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THE   LAND   OF   THE   SPIRIT 


The  Stranger 


The 
Land  of  the  Spirit 


By 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW  YORK   :::::::   1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published  April,  1913 


Preface 

POSSIBLY  the  most  notable  one  change  in 
our  national  life  in  the  last  decades  is  the 
deepening  of  its  note.  Whereas  formerly 
attention  was  given  largely  to  things  of  the 
surface,  of  late  the  mind  has  been  directed 
more  to  those  things  which  lie  beneath.  A 
whole  realm  has  been  opened  up  for  consid 
eration  and  for  work.  Duty  to  God  and 
duty  to  our  neighbor  have  come  almost 
suddenly  to  assume  a  new  and  personal 
meaning,  springing  unexpectedly  into  a  new 
relation  to  our  life.  And  we  find  the  uni 
versal  mind  turning  with  serious  heart- 
searchings  to  a  frank  facing  of  the  divine 
commandments.  Out  of  this  fresh  moral 
consciousness  have  grown  most  of  the  new 
moral  movements  in  our  day,  and  much 
the  larger  part  of  the  spiritual  forces  that 
have  had  their  birth  in  our  time.  From 
taking  thought  only  of  the  things  of  the 


M741596 


PREFACE 

body  we  have  come  to  ponder  the  treasures 
of  the  soul,  and  the  new  light  has  shown  us 
that  the  field  is  no  longer  confined  to  a 
future  state  in  some  distant  heaven,  but 
lies  here  actually  in  our  midst. 

These  stories  have  been  brought  together 
under  their  present  title  as  in  some  sort  re 
flecting  glimpses  of  this  new  Land  of  the 
Spirit.  Several  of  the  stories  are  so  based 
on  actual  incidents  as  to  be  almost  historical 
in  form,  while  others  are  less  specifically 
realistic.  But  it  is  hoped  that  all  may  be 
recognized  as  typical  of  true  conditions. 

"The  Stable  of  the  Inn"  is  to  some  extent 
based  on  the  Golden  Legend.  The  idea  of 
"The  Old  Planters'"  was  first  suggested  by 
a  charming  story  entitled  "The  Passing  of 
Falstaff,"  which  was  read  long  ago  in  an 
old  magazine  which  it  has  been  vainly 
sought  to  identify  that  acknowledgments 
might  be  made  to  its  author.  "The  Bigot" 
and  "The  Trick  Doctor"  were  based  on 
incidents  related  to  me  by  friends.  "The 
Shepherd  Who  Watched  by  Night"  be 
longs  partly  to  the  same  class  with  these 

vi 


PREFACE 

and  falls  in  partly  with  those  yet  to  be  men 
tioned.  It  is  real  enough  to  be  a  transcrip 
tion  of  fact  and  universal  enough  to  be 
found  by  any  one  who  cares  to  open  his 
eyes.  One  Church  is  mentioned ;  but  all  may 
be  signified.  "The  Stranger's  Pew"  and 
"The  Outcast"  reflect  phases  of  life  unhap 
pily  universal,  as  any  one  may  see  who  is 
not  wholly  blind.  The  latter  story  was 
written  prior  to  the  appearance  of  the  play, 
"Madame  X,"  founded  on  the  same  theme. 
It  has  never  been  published  before. 

THOS.  NELSON  PAGE. 

March  4,  1913. 


vii 


Contents 


PAGE 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 3 

THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 17 

THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 82 

THE  SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT    .  107 

THE  BIGOT 133 

THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 187 

THE  OUTCAST             234 


Illustrations 


The  Stranger Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

She  treated  him  as  an  indulgent  mother  treats  a  feeble 
child 66 

Behind  them  streamed  the  mingled  traffic  of  a  road  that 
led  to  a  great  city 84 

It  was,  then,  not  a  dream.     This  was  the  sign  unto  them     104 
"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked 124 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  deeply  interested,  and  he  told 

me  his  curious  story 154 

At    the  moment  he   was   making   slow  passes   with   his 
hands 204 

Simon  shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat 228 


THE  LAND  OF  THE   SPIRIT 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

THE  church-bells  were  ringing  loudly,  and 

the  bells  of  St.  's  Church  were  giving 

forth  a  particularly  deep  and  resonant  tone, 
which  set  the  frosty  morning  air  to  throb 
bing.  It  was  a  fine  chime,  and  the  parish 
ioners  were  justly  proud  of  it.  The  tune  the 
bells  rang  now  was,  "Jesus,  Lover  of  My 
Soul."  The  broad  street  on  which  the 
church  faced  was  full  of  shining  vehicles: 
automobiles,  with  fur-clad  chauffeurs,  and 
carriages  with  well-groomed  horses  prancing 
in  the  chill  air.  The  sidewalks,  which  in  the 
sunshine  were  covered  with  a  sort  of  slush 
from  the  now  melting  snow,  were  alive  with 
well-dressed  men  and  richly  dressed  ladies 
who  moved  decorously  toward  the  hand 
some  stone  portal,  above  which  carven 
saints,  who  had  lived  holy  lives,  stood  in 
stony  repose.  With  solemn  mien  the  wor 
shippers  entered,  exchanging  with  acquain 
tances  tempered  salutations  or  fragmentary 

3 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

bits  of  news,  bowing  to  the  bowing  verg 
ers,  who  obsequiously  showed  them  up  the 
dim  aisles  to  their  seats  in  cushioned  pews, 
where  they  settled  themselves  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction.  Each  pew  contained  a  plate 
or  card  engraved  with  the  name  of  the 
owner. 

As  the  congregation  passed  in,  off  to  one 
side,  in  a  shadow  beneath  the  gargoyles, 
which,  with  satanic  rage  graved  in  their 
stone  faces,  appeared  as  if  trying  to  spring 
down  from  the  eaves  on  the  heads  of  the 
church-goers,  stood  a  person  gravely  ob 
serving  those  who  entered  the  church.  His 
garb  was  poor  and  he  was  manifestly  a 
stranger  in  that  section.  He  had  come  im 
mediately  from  the  lower  part  of  the  town 
where,  a  little  while  before,  he  might  have 
been  found  in  a  group  about  a  rusty  street- 
preacher,  whose  husky  voice,  as  he  tried  to 
tell  the  throng  about  him  of  heaven  and  the 
kingdom  of  God,  appeared  to  excite  their 
amusement.  Oaths  and  foul  language  were 
freely  passed  among  them;  yet  when  the 
preacher  ended,  a  few  of  them  moved  off 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

with  serious  faces,  and  one  or  two  of  them 
stopped  and  offered  their  pennies  to  a  blind 
beggar  working  at  a  wheezy  accordion. 
The  stranger  joined  the  preacher  and  walked 
away  with  him  as  if  they  had  been  friends, 
and  when  he  left  him  he  turned  toward 

St.  's,  whose  bells  were  just  beginning 

to  peal.  He  accosted  one  of  the  passers-by 
with  the  words,  "Whose  church  is  this?" 

"This  is  Doctor 's  church/'  said  the 

gentleman  as  he  passed  on.  The  stranger 
moved  a  little  away — out  of  the  shadow  to 
where  the  sunlight  fell,  and  looked  long  and 
curiously  at  the  building.  Another  person 
as  he  passed  him  and  followed  his  glance 
said:  "A  fine  church.  It's  the  finest  in  the 
city."  The  stranger,  however,  did  not  ap 
pear  to  hear.  He  only  shivered  slightly. 
His  worn  clothing  was  so  thin  as  to  appear 
wholly  unsuitable  to  the  winter  tempera 
ture,  and  his  shoes  showed  his  bare  feet 
through  their  gaping  sides.  His  face  was 
grave,  and  marked  as  if  by  want  or  sorrow. 
His  eyes,  deep  sunken  as  with  care,  were 
habitually  cast  down,  and  his  shoulders 

5 


THE  LAXD  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

stooped  as  though  he  had  long  borne  heavy 
burdens.  He  might,  but  for  his  gentle  ex 
pression,  have  been  a  workman  out  of  work, 
who  had  known  better  days,  but  his  counte 
nance,  as  he  talked  to  some  little  children 
who  had  stopped  by  him,  was  kind  and 
gentle,  and  had  something  childlike  in  it. 
As  he  stood  talking  with  and  enjoying 
them,  a  number  of  the  church-goers  ob 
served  him  and,  after  a  consultation,  one 
turned  back  and  said  something  to  the  chil 
dren  in  a  commanding  voice,  at  which  they 
started  and  ran  off,  looking  back,  now  at  the 
stranger  and  now  at  the  gentleman,  who  still 
remained  in  sight  as  if  to  see  that  his  orders 
were  obeyed.  The  stranger  too  gazed  after 
the  children,  as  if  in  a  sort  of  pleasant 
dream.  From  this  he  was  aroused  by  an 
other  church-goer  with  an  official  mien, 
who,  after  a  casual  glance  at  him,  paused  at 
the  threshold  and  then  turned  back.  In 
his  gloved  hand  he  carried  a  small  gold- 
headed  cane,  as  fine  as  a  reed,  with  which 
he  pointed  at  the  stranger  as  he  approached 
him,  and  called  in  a  tone  of  authority: 

6 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

"  Don't  hang  around  the  church —  Go  on." 
So  the  stranger  kept  on  until  he  had  crossed 
the  street,  when  he  turned  just  in  time  to 
see  the  gentleman  enter  the  church.  As  the 
latter  passed  a  bowing  usher  he  paused  to 
say:  "I  am  expecting  friends  in  my  pew  to 
day — Lord  and  Lady [the  name  was 

lost],  so  do  not  show  any  strangers  to  it." 
The  usher  bowed.  Close  on  his  heels  came 
another  who  said:  "No  strangers  in  my 
pew,  they  annoy  me."  "Yes,  sir,"  bowed 
the  usher.  At  that  moment  a  poor  woman, 
dressed  like  a  widow,  in  a  thin,  shabby, 
black  dress,  long  worn  threadbare,  and  with 
shoes  old  and  broken,  passed  by,  and  en 
tering  the  church  stood  in  the  aisle  just 
within  the  door,  timidly  waiting  to  be  al 
lowed  to  sit  down  in  one  of  the  empty  pews. 
The  official-looking  gentleman  passed  her, 
apparently  without  looking  at  her;  but  as 
he  passed  a  verger  he  said  to  him,  with  a 
jerk  of  the  head:  "Give  her  a  seat;  don't 
let  people  block  up  the  aisles."  The  verg 
er  turned  back  and  said  to  the  woman, 
in  the  same  tone  the  other  had  used:  "Sit 

7 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

there,  and  don't  block  up  the  aisle."  He 
indicated  a  seat  in  a  pew  near  the  door, 
and  she  sat  down  coughing.  Her  cough 
was  bad,  and  it  appeared  to  irritate  the  verg 
er.  Every  time  he  returned  from  showing 
some  one  to  his  pew  he  kept  looking  at  her 
with  an  expression  of  disapproval,  and  pres 
ently  he  walked  up  to  her  and  said:  "You 
had  better  sit  in  that  side-pew.  Perhaps 
you  will  not  cough  so  much  there."  He 
pointed  to  the  first  pew  at  the  side,  under  a 
gallery.  The  widow  thanked  him,  and, 
trying  to  stifle  her  cough,  moved  to  the 
other  seat. 

A  little  later  the  sound  of  the  processional 
came  through  the  closed  door,  and  the 
stranger,  outside,  returned  to  the  church, 
and,  as  if  half  timidly,  entered  the  vesti 
bule  by  a  door  beside  the  main  entrance. 
The  vestibule  was  empty.  He  stopped 
long  enough  to  read  the  inscription  on  a 
memorial  tablet,  declaring  that  the  church 
was  erected  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  in 
memory  of  some  one  whose  name  was  almost 
indecipherable.  Then  he  glanced  at  the 

8 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

list  of  pew-holders,  in  a  gilded  frame,  con 
taining  many  names,  though  there  was  still 
room  for  others.  He  tried  to  open  the 
heavy  middle  door,  but  it  appeared  to  have 
caught  fast;  for  a  drop  of  blood  trickled 
down  as  he  stopped  and  gazed  around.  Fi 
nally,  after  some  apparent  irresolution,  he 
entered  the  church  by  a  small  door  at  the 
side  of  the  vestibule.  The  church  was  a 
large  one  and  very  richly  ornamented.  The 
fine,  stained-glass  windows  represented  a 
number  of  scenes  taken  from  Bible  history, 
most  of  them,  indeed,  from  the  life  of  our 
Lord — there  was  the  annunciation;  the 
scene  in  the  stable  at  Bethlehem;  the 
healing  of  Jairus's  daughter;  the  raising  of 
Lazarus;  and  over  the  high  altar,  on 
which  burned  brightly  a  number  of  candles, 
the  Crucifixion  and  the  Resurrection.  The 
church  was  so  large  that  even  with  the  con 
gregation  that  had  entered,  many  of  the 
pews  were  yet  unoccupied.  In  one  or  two 
of  them  was  a  card  bearing  the  word :  "  Re 
served."  The  congregation  was  praying  as 
he  entered — at  least,  some  were;  the  priest 

9 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

was  reading  a  confession,  and  they  were 
following  the  words,  some  as  they  gazed 
around,  others  with  bowed  heads.  Near 
the  door,  in  pews,  were  a  few  shabbily 
dressed  persons. 

After  a  glance  of  interest  at  the  windows, 
followed  by  a  moment  of  irresolution,  the 
stranger  moved  up  to  where  gaped  a  num 
ber  of  empty  pews;  but  even  in  the  dusk  of 
the  church  the  eye  of  a  verger  was  too  sharp 
for  him,  and  as  he  started  to  take  his  seat 
the  verger,  with  a  gesture  and  a  word, 
halted  him.  "These  pews  are  all  taken — 
you  must  stand  till  after  the  second  lesson/' 
He  indicated  the  open  space  near  the  door, 
and  the  stranger,  as  if  abashed,  moved  halt 
ingly  back.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
showed  a  lameness.  He  stood  near  the  door 
while  the  service  proceeded,  and  listened  to 
the  fine  choir  singing  and  chanting  to  the 
strains  of  a  great  organ,  wonderfully  played. 
Once  or  twice  vergers  came  silently  down 
the  aisle,  when  some  one  of  the  congregation 
entered  late,  and  rather  scowled  at  him  for 
standing  in  the  way.  But  when  the  "sec- 

10 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

ond  lesson"  was  ended,  the  verger  either 
forgot  the  stranger,  or  missed  him;  so  he 
continued  to  stand,  though  from  his  ex 
pression  he  appeared  to  suffer  from  pain, 
and  now  and  then  shifted  his  pose  wearily. 
Only  once  he  smiled.  It  was  when,  after  a 
telling  notice  of  the  needs  of  the  parish  by 
the  white-robed  priest,  and  a  high  tribute 
to  the  generosity  of  the  people,  a  company 
of  gentlemen  in  kid  gloves  passed  down  the 
aisles,  with  large  silver  platters,  and  took  up 
the  offertory,  while  the  well-trained  choir 
sang  a  voluntary  of  much  intricacy — a  part 
of  which  ran,  "  How  beautiful  are  the  feet 
of  them  who  bring  the  glad  tidings!"  and 
as  one  of  the  collectors  passed  near  him, 
the  old  woman  in  black,  with  the  bad  cough, 
tremblingly  put  in  two  cents.  The  col 
lector  wore  a  set  and  solemn  expression  of 
severe  virtue,  quite  as  he  had  done  outside 
the  church  when  he  had  ordered  the  little 
children  off.  But  the  stranger  smiled  at  the 
old  widow.  The  old  woman  caught  his  eye 
upon  her  and,  moving  up  a  little,  made  a 
place  beside  her  which  he  took  with  a 

ii 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

smile  of  thanks.  As  he  passed  the  col 
lector  he  reached  out  his  hand  over  the 
plate,  but  whatever  he  put  in  it  fell  so 
softly  as  to  make  no  sound.  The  collector 
turned  without  looking  at  him  and  placed 
his  hand  mechanically  over  the  plate  to  press 
down  the  loose  notes.  Just  then  the  choir 
ceased  singing,  the  collectors  formed  in  line 
and  marched  up  the  aisle,  standing  in  a 
line  while  the  collection  was  poured  jingling 
from  one  plate  into  another.  Then  the 
priest  received  it,  turned  and  marched  to  the 
altar,  and  while  he  held  it  aloft  the  congre 
gation  sang,  "All  things  come  of  thee,  O 
Lord,  and  of  thine  own  have  we  given  thee." 
The  old  woman  stood  up,  but  could  not 
sing;  she  only  coughed. 

When  the  service  was  over  the  congrega 
tion,  fur-clad  and  cheery,  poured  out  of  the 
church,  greeting  each  other  with  words  or 
smiles  somewhat  measured,  entered  their 
luxurious  vehicles,  and  drove  off.  The  stran 
ger  in  the  pew  near  the  door,  with  a  smile 
of  thanks  as  the  poor  widow,  with  her  rack 
ing  cough,  passed  quietly  out,  followed  her 

12 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

and  crossing  the  way  stood  for  a  moment 
in  the  shadow,  as  if  observing  the  congre 
gation;  then,  as  the  vestryman  who  had  or 
dered  him  off  before  the  service  appeared, 
he  turned  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
which  the  widow  had  taken  toward  the 
poorer  part  of  the  city.  She  was  picking 
her  way  slowly  along  the  sidewalk  when 
she  heard  his  voice,  offering  his  arm  to  sup 
port  her.  Her  shoes  were  old  and  worn  in 
holes,  and  let  in  the  icy  water;  but  she 
appeared  not  to  mind  it.  Her  interest  was 
in  the  stranger. 

"Why,  you  are  almost  barefooted!"  she 
exclaimed  in  a  pitying  voice. 

"Not  any  more  than  you,"  he  smiled. 

"Why,  your  feet  are  actually  bleeding!" 
she  argued. 

"Old  hurts,"  he  answered  her.  "The 
church  was  cold." 

"Yes,  it  was  cold  near  the  door,"  she 
coughed.  "You  must  come  in  and  let  me 
see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

He  smiled  his  thanks. 

"You  must  come  in  and  let  me  make  you 
a  cup  of  hot — something,  I  will  make  up  my 

13 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

fire  at  once."  She  was  going  to  say  "hot 
tea,"  but  she  remembered  she  was  out  of  tea. 

"A  cup  of  water  would  do  for  me/'  said 
the  stranger. 

She  was  at  her  door  now,  and  her  hands 
were  cold  as  she  fumbled  at  the  lock,  and  as 
she  turned  after  entering  to  call  him  in,  he 
had  disappeared.  She  made  her  way  up  to 
her  little,  cold,  back  room  and  sat  down, 
shivering  and  quite  out  of  breath.  The 
coal  was  out,  so  she  could  not  make  a  fire, 
but  she  wrapped  herself  up  as  well  as  she 
could  and  presently  forgot  her  cold  and 
hunger  in  sleep. 

As  the  official-looking  man  lifted  his  hand 
on  his  way  home  his  wife  said,"  Why,  your 
hand  has  blood  on  it!"  He  glanced  at  it 
with  annoyance.  "It  must  have  come  from 
that  money.  I  thought  that  person's  hand 
was  bleeding." 

"Whose?"  demanded  his  wife. 

"Oh,  a  stranger  who  was  hanging  around 
the  church." 

It  was  not  long  afterward  that,  in  the 
poor  part  of  the  little  town,  in  a  very  small 

14 


THE  STRANGER'S  PEW 

and  dingy  house,  and  in  a  little  back  bed 
room  of  that  house,  a  sick  woman  lay  dying. 
The  doctor  who  had  attended  her,  sent  by 
a  charity  organization  connected  possibly 

with  St.  's,  had  just  left  her  side  and 

stood  on  a  little  dark  landing  outside  the 
door,  which  was  slightly  ajar,  speaking  in  a 
professional  tone  to  a  white-habited  nurse, 
who  also  had  been  furnished  by  the  charity 
organization. 

"Well,  there  is  nothing  further  to  be 
done,"  he  said  as  he  drew  on  his  right 
glove. 

"No,  sir." 

"How  long  did  you  say  the  coma  has 
lasted?" 

"All  day." 

"She  will  not  rally  again;  you  know  what 
to  do  when  it  is  over?" 

"Yes,  sir."  It  was  all  professionally 
kind. 

Just  then  a  murmur  came  from  the  dying 
woman  within,  and  nurse  and  doctor,  moved 
by  professional  instinct,  stepped  softly  back 
to  the  bedside.  Some  change  had  taken 

15 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

place  in  the  patient.  Her  worn  face  had 
changed.  A  new  light  had  fallen  on  it. 
"He  is  coming!"  she  murmured.  "Oh,  the 
glory! — You!"  she  exclaimed.  "You! — 
Lord —  It  was  nothing —  How  beautiful 
are  the  feet!" 

Her  head  turned  slightly  on  the  pillow, 
and  a  subtle  smoothing  came  over  her  face. 
The  doctor  instinctively  laid  his  hand  on 
her.  "She  is  gone,"  he  said;  "I  knew  she 
would."  But  he  little  knew  how. 


16 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS'* 

I 

THE  time  when  "The  Old  Planters'" 
first  opened  was  a  date  so  far  back  that  the 
memory  of  man  runs  not  to  the  contrary. 
It  must,  from  its  name,  have  been  in  the 
"ante-bellum,"  or,  as  the  old  colonel  used 
to  say,  "antediluvian,"  period,  when  the 
wealthy  planters  passed  up  and  down  the 
country  on  their  way  back  and  forth  from 
their  rich  rice  and  cotton  plantations  on  the 
sluggish  rivers  to  the  mountains.  Its  name 
denoted  it;  its  ample  rooms,  carved  mantels, 
and  heavy  wainscot,  long  eaten  of  rats,  and 
its  fine  old  classical  portico — all  testified  to 
a  colonial  or  post-colonial  period,  contem 
porary  possibly  with  the  Revolutionary 
name  of  the  town,  Liberty. 

When  the  close  of  the  war  brought  to  an 
end  the  regime  on  which  the  prestige  of  "the 

*The  author  desires  to  acknowledge  his  debt  to  a  charming 
story,  "The  Passing  of  Falstaff,"  published  some  fifteen  years  ago. 

17 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

old  Planters'"  depended,  the  mansion  stood 
like  some  of  those  who  had  resorted  there : 
a  mere  relic  of  the  past,  still  retaining  its 
stately  mien  but  antiquated,  out  of  date,  and 
sinking  to  decay  in  silent  dignity.  The  once 
snowy  paint  blistered  and  peeled  from  por 
tico  and  portal ;  the  fences  rotted  to  decay, 
and  the  once  carefully  tended  walks  crum 
bled  beneath  the  foot  not  of  man,  but  of 
time  and  the  elements. 

Then  came  the  boom  as  unexpected  and 
apparently  as  disastrous  as  the  boom  of  the 
guns  that  had  startled  and  shocked  the  quiet 
region  in  the  terrible  year,  sixty-four,  when 
War's  ploughshare  ploughed  a  deep,  broad 
furrow  through  the  land. 

It  was  then  that  the  new  railroad,  so 
loudly  heralded,  came  into,  or  nearly  into, 
the  town,  and,  with  levitical  look,  passed  by 
on  the  other  side.  Streets,  long,  dusty,  and 
hot,  were  laid  out  at  right  angles  to  one 
another,  taking  in  not  only  the  suburbs,  but 
ranging  on  in  their  checker-pattern  far  into 
the  country,  marking  the  green  or  brown 
fields  with  long  lines  of  naked,  upturned 

18 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

earth:  deep  cuts,  and  high  "fills,"  which  in 
bad  weather  were  impassable,  and  in  all 
weather  were  hideous,  like  raw  welts  on  the 
smooth  body.  "Corner  lots"  sold  at  fabu 
lous  prices  to  people  who  had  never  seen 
them,  and  who  never  paid  for  them.  A 
mania  seized  on  the  people. 

When  the  drop  came,  it  was  simply  that — 
a  drop.  No  one  knew  why  it  came  or  how. 
The  bubble  had  simply  burst,  and  the  boom 
collapsed.  No  one  had  made  money  by  it. 
Every  one  seemed  poorer  than  before,  and 
Liberty,  after  its  one  wild,  boom  orgy,  sank 
back  into  its  old,  dusty,  humdrum  life  and 
ways.  Only  the  long,  raw  welts:  cuts,  and 
fills ;  a  few  ugly,  modern  brick  structures — 
in  boom  parlance,  "up-to-date  blocks" — 
standing  up  bare  and  shameless  and  empty 
among  the  quaint,  dormer-windowed  frame- 
buildings  or  solid  brick  houses  of  an  older 
and  serener  age,  marked  its  fall  in  its  unhal 
lowed  chase  for  wealth. 

It  was  in  the  boom-time  that  the  large, 
hideous  shell,  called  the  "Windsor  Palace 
Hotel,"  was  built  on  the  new  street,  termed 

19 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Fifth  Avenue,"  which,  like  Aaron's  rod, 
had  swallowed  the  serpentine  up-country 
road.  This  hotel  was  the  chief  toadstool 
of  the  mushroom  city,  and  here,  mainly  in 
its  large  bar-room,  during  its  brief  deceptive 
career,  the  glib  real-estate  agent  plied  his 
alluring  and  mendacious  practices,  and  the 
self-assertive  drummer,  cigar  or  toothpick 
in  mouth,  aired  himself  and  his  views  with 
the  confidence  which  had  brought  him  to  his 
present  eminence  and  was  looked  to  with 
assurance  to  take  him  higher. 

When  the  boom  had  passed,  the  Windsor 
Palace  Hotel  had  passed  also,  though  it 
lingered  on  cataleptically  for  a  year  or  two, 
while  only  drummers  stamped  through  its 
vacant  and  resounding  halls  and  shrunken 
bar,  discussing  its  future  end  with  a  shrewd 
question  or  two  as  to  "Old  Dick's  present 
insurance,"  until  it  went  up  one  night  in 
smoke,  leading  the  astute  young  men  who 
"travelled"  in  that  "territory"  to  nod  saga 
ciously,  for  the  most  part  with  an  eye  closed, 
and  curse  the  fate  that  would  throw  them 
back  to  the  old  Planters'. 

20 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

II 

IT  was  a  topic  of  conversation  among  a 
group  of  the  travelling  brotherhood  one 
autumn  evening  within  my  hearing  in  the 
smoking-car  of  the  little,  ill-lighted,  ill- 
smelling  train  for  Liberty,  that  jerked  and 
jolted  over  the  winding  and  uneven  road 
which  owed  its  crooked  being  to  the  ex 
ploded  boom  of  some  few  years  back.  There 
were  half  a  dozen  of  them — all  but  one, 
the  eldest,  from  the  North — be-capped  and 
cigaretted  and  self-assertive,  representing  as 
many  different  cities  and  "lines  of  goods," 
and  they  had  taken  easy  possession  of  the 
car  with  the  air  of  men  who  owned  the  train, 
as  in  some  sort  they  did. 

The  unanimous  judgment  of  those  who 
had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  to  stop 
at  "that  joint"  —for  one  man  was  making 
his  first  trip  South — was  that  it  was  "rot 
ten,"  a  view  in  which  I  was  much  interested, 
for  I  was  bound  for  Liberty  myself. 

"But,  you  know,  the  place  has  changed 
hands  since  last  season.  Old  Doodle's 

21 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

pulled  out  and  gone/'  said  the  eldest  of  the 
group,  a  pleasant-looking  man  of  middle  age 
whom  the  next  oldest  called  Marion,  and  the 
others  addressed  simply  as  "Old  man." 

"Well,  that's  a  blessing,"  observed  an 
other,  with  a  young  face,  but  an  old  air,  as 
of  a  man  who  has  seen  the  world  and  found 
it  wanting.  "Bound  to  be  better;  could 
not  be  worse.  Only  place  I  ever  put  up  at 
where  they  had  slop-water  regular  for  soup 
— regular,  mind  you.  I  have  seen  it  off 
and  on  at  Tim  Tipple's  roost  on  the  P.  D.  & 
Q.,  and  at  Slive  Hunker's — where  I  first 
met  you,  Jake, — you  remember? — and  at 
several  other  places;  but  never  regular  ex 
cept  at  the  Planters'.  I  wonder  who  old 
Doodle's  unloaded  on,  and  what  he  got?" 

"Don't  know,  Mack;  but  he  stuck  who 
ever  'twas,  no  matter  what  he  got." 

"That's  easy.  Ever  try  to  sell  him  a 
bill  of  goods  or  stand  him  off?"  The  laugh 
that  went  up  testified  to  old  Doodle's  char 
acter. 

"I  can  stand  axle-grease  for  cheese,  for  a 
variety,"  said  one,  whom  the  others  called 


22 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

"Henchy" — short,  as  I  learned,  for  Hench 
man — "but  I  do  think  the  box  ought  to  be 
hid." 

"Maybe,  old  Doodle's  dead?"  suggested 
another  who  had  been  working  over  a  pipe :  a 
curly-headed  youth  named  Jake.  His  voice 
had  an  accent  of  hope. 

"No  such  good  luck.  That  kind  don't 
die,"  said  Henchy.  "He's  robbed  some 
poor  devil  and  gone  off,  leaving  him  the  bag 
to  hold." 

"'Tain't  a  him;  it's  a  her,"  observed 
Marion. 

"A  what?  What  kind  of  a  her?  Wid' 
or  old  maid?"  "What's  her  name?" 
"Where'd  she  come  from?"  "How'd  she 
get  into  it?"  were  questions  all  asked  to 
gether  within  a  minute,  with  many  fore 
bodings  that  it  would  be  "worse  than  ever," 
unless,  indeed,  as  some  thought,  that  were 
impossible. 

"Named  Garnett,  I  think,"  said  Marion, 
when  the  questions  slackened.  "Widow,  I 
judge.  They  always  spoke  of  'Mrs.  Gar- 
nett's.'  Her  husband  was — let  me  see — 

23 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

what  did  they  say?  Oh,  yes;  they  said  he 
was  a  colonel  and  had — let  me  see — done 
something  in  the  war?  What  was  it?  Oh, 
I  don't  know;  played  hell  somewheres — at 
Gettysburg  or  somewheres.  Oh,  I  don't 
know." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  he's  dead,  anyway,"  ob 
served  Mack,  amiably. 

"I  guess  he  was  dead  some  time  before 
they  buried  him,"  said  Jake,  a  view  that  met 
with  a  prompt  indorsement. 

"I  think  I'll  go  on,  and  wire  my  folks 
to-morrow  morning,"  continued  the  youth. 
"I'm  getting  too  old  for  this  sort  of  thing. 
I  like  a  bed's  '11  stand  still  an'  not  run  clean 
away." 

"I've  got  to  stop,"  said  another,  despond 
ently:  a  traveller  for  "notions."  "Got  a  bill 
of  goods  to  look  after.  Sold  last  season,  by 
one  of  the  firm,  and  the  Boss  sent  me  down 
specially  to  see  what's  to  pay." 

"Oh,  well,  I  guess  I'll  stop.     I'm  tough." 

"You're  that  all  right,  Jake,"  observed 
his  friend,  to  the  appreciation  of  the  others. 

"Why  didn't  old  Doodle  have  brains  to 
24 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

do  like  old  Dick  up  to  the  Windsor,  and 
burn  her  and  collect  his  insurance  like  a 
gentleman,  instead  of  playin'  off  on  a  poor 
widdy  woman?" 

"Now,  if  I'd  said  that!"  commented  the 
one  they  called  Jake,  with  an  expressive  gest 
ure  and  shrug,  at  which  there  was  a  laugh. 

"You  wouldn't  dare,"  said  Mack. 

"Oh,  'tain't  so  bad,"  suddenly  observed 
a  pleasant-looking  fellow  who  had  not 
spoken  before,  and  whose  name  I  afterward 
learned  was  Wilson.  "I  crossed  a  fellow 
the  other  night  at  the  theatre  in  Florence. 
Said  he'd  been  there,  and  they  were  mighty 
nice  folks  had  it  now.  Didn't  know  very 
much  about  runnin'  a  hotel, — left  it  pretty 
much  to  two  old  niggers, — but  were  straight 
all  right.  Sort  of  high-toned,  and  make  you 
feel  sort  of  company;  but  he  said  there  was 
an  all-fired —  However — nothing."  He 
stopped  short,  and  the  next  second  tried  to 
adjust  his  necktie  by  the  reflection  in  the 
darkened  window-pane. 

Just  then  the  conductor,  a  thin,  gaunt 
man,  with  deep  lines  in  his  face,  came  in 

25 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

with  his  dim  lantern  in  the  crook  of  his  arm 
and  spoke  to  a  young  man  who  had  got  on 
at  a  station  a  little  way  back  and  had  sat 
ever  since  on  the  opposite  side  from  us. 
He  had  a  law-book  on  his  knee ;  but  for  the 
most  part  he  gazed  straight  ahead  in  reflec 
tion,  which  I  judge  must  have  been  pleasant, 
from  the  smile  which  occasionally  flitted 
across  his  face,  making  him  suddenly  almost 
handsome. 

"That  Joe  Daniel  9s  ahead  there — been 
foolin'  with  a  pistol,"  said  the  conductor; 
"that's  a  mean  man." 

"It  is  mean  whiskey,"  said  the  young 
man,  quietly;  "he  is  all  right  when  he 
keeps  away  from  liquor." 

"Mean  whiskey  and  mean  nigger,  too," 
said  the  conductor  with  conviction.  He  un 
expectedly  took  from  his  side  pocket  a  pistol 
and  handed  it  to  the  young  man.  "Give 
that  to  old  Julius,  will  you,  and  tell  him  to 
keep  that  nigger  off  my  train."  His  jaw 
suddenly  took  a  firm  outline. 

"I  reckon  you  will  have  to  do  that,  cap 
tain,"  said  the  young  man  with  a  laugh,  as 

26 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

he  pocketed  the  pistol.  "He  has  got  away 
from  Julius." 

"Well,  I  want  him  to  keep  off  my  train, 
trying  to  make  trouble,"  said  the  conductor, 
decisively,  as  he  reached  up  for  the  bell- 
rope. 

Next  moment  the  engine  whistled — the 
hoarse  cry  of  the  dusty  brakeman,  "Lib 
erty!"  set  the  group  of  drummers  to  gather 
ing  up  valises  and  sample-cases,  and  specu 
lating  as  to  whether  they  would  find  a  bus 
or  a  "nighthawk,"  or  would  be  forced  to 
plough  through  the  mud. 

Ill 

THE  train  came  jokingly  to  a  halt,  and 
I  followed  the  group  of  drummers  as  they 
picked  up  their  traps  and  moved  out  of  the 
door.  On  what  should  have  been  the  plat 
form,  but  was  a  stretch  of  sand  uncertainly 
lighted  by  the  dull  gleam  sifted  through  the 
car  windows,  a  few  loungers  stood  about 
in  the  gloom,  hands  in  pockets,  and  up  the 
track  a  little  way  beyond,  where  a  negro 

27 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

was  talking  drunkenly,  was  heard  the  jar  of 
trunks  as  they  dropped  heavily  from  the 
baggage-car  in  the  fitful  light  of  a  smoky 
lantern.  My  friends,  the  drummers,  moved 
up  in  a  group,  opening  in  a  chorus  of  objur 
gations  by  no  means  complimentary  to  Lib 
erty  or  the  railway,  when  a  lantern  appeared 
close  beside  us,  and  a  voice  insinuated  itself 
through  the  dusk. 

"Planters'  Hotel,  gem'men?  On'y  fust- 
class  hotel  in  de  city,  suh." 

Muttered  terms  of  derision  were  ex 
changed  between  the  young  men  as  they 
kept  on  toward  the  baggage-car,  from  which 
the  heavy  thud  of  trunks  being  dropped 
on  the  ground  still  came,  the  fitful  gleam 
of  the  lantern  moving  beside  us  as  the 
bearer  kept  pace  with  us. 

"All  out?"  inquired  a  voice;  to  which  the 
reply  came,  "Yep;  let  her  go!"  and  at  the 
conductor's  announcement,  "All  aboard!" 
sung  out  in  the  darkness  behind  us,  the 
engine  gave  a  screech,  and,  with  a  labored 
chug-chug,  the  train  started. 

As  the  band  of  dim  light  from  the  win- 
28 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

dows  moved  on  beyond  us,  grotesquely  zig 
zagging  up  the  banks  ahead  of  us,  and  dis 
appeared  beyond,  leaving  only  the  light  at 
the  rear  of  the  train  glowering  back  at  us 
like  a  dull,  crimson  eyeball,  three  or  four 
negro  youths  appeared,  offering  to  take  our 
grips  and  asking  for  a  dime.  The  voice  near 
us  once  more  insinuated  itself:  "Planters' 
Hotel,  gem'mens?  On'y  fust-class  hotel  in 
de  city.  I'll  teck  yo'  baggage.  Jes'  gimme 
yo'  carpet-bags — yo'  grips,  and  yo'  checks." 

The  drummers  were  counting  their  pieces 
and,  finding  the  tale  correct,  one  of  them 
turned  and  asked:  "Got  a  bus?" 

"Aw — yes,  suh;  yes,  suh.  Got  a — got 
eve'ythin'.  Jes'  gimme  yo'  checks.  I'll 
ten'  to  eve'ythin'.  Needn't  trouble  yo'self 
'bout  nothin'.  You  jes'  lef  'em  to  old 
Julius.  He'll  ten'  to  'em.  You  jes'  wait  fo' 
me  a  minute."  A  shrill  explosion  of  laugh 
ter  from  one  of  the  negro  boys  standing  list 
lessly  by  drew  from  him  a  sharp  rebuke. 
"What  you  laughin'  at?  Git  back  out  o' 
my  way  or  I'll  mak'  you  laugh  wrong  side 
yo'  mouf." 

29 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

The  checks  were  handed  over  to  him,  and 
a  colloquy  ensued  between  him  and  the 
station-agent,  while  the  drummers  discussed 
and  inveighed  against  the  fate  that  had  led 
them  to  a  Sunday  at  Liberty. 

Finally  the  old  colored  man  turned.  "All 
right,  gem'mens.  Jes'  a  minute.  I'll  be 
dyah  in  a  minute,  an'  I'll  show  you  de 
way." 

"Where's  the  bus  ?"  they  called  after  him. 
But  with  a  "Yes,  suh;  yes,  suh;  close  by," 
he  disappeared  in  the  darkness  without 
vouchsafing  further  answer. 

"  I  believe  he's  lying.  Don't  believe  there 
is  any  bus,"  hazarded  one  of  the  young  men. 
"Did  he  say  there  was  a  bus?" 

"Of  course  he's  just  lying." 

Just  then  the  sound  of  wheels  reached 
us,  and  an  old  rattle-trap  of  a  wagon  ap 
proached  through  the  dusk  and  drew  up 
beside  the  luggage. 

A  negro  boy  near  by  gave  a  shrill  laugh 
of  amusement  and  turned  to  one  of  his 
companions. 

"Dat'swhathecallabus." 
30 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

"Now,  gem'mens,  gimme  yo'  grips." 

"Here,  I  thought  you  said  you  had  a  bus! 
What  do  you  mean  by  lying  to  us  ?  Do  you 
call  that  a  bus?"  the  drummers  called  to 
him  derisively. 

"Well,  suh,  not  edzackly  a — bus,  but  a — 
ve-hicle,"  said  the  old  fellow.  And  with 
much  clatter  the  luggage  was  got  into  the 
wagon.  The  old  man  handed  his  lantern 
to  a  negro  boy,  saying,  "Heah,  light  de 
gem'mens,"  part  order,  part  request,  and, 
turning  with  a  bow  to  us,  said :  "  Gem'men, 
you  jes'  foller  me.  Jes'  foller  old  Julius." 
He  mounted  his  wagon  amid  the  jeers  of  the 
drummers  and  drove  on  through  the  sand. 

After  a  drive  and  plod  of  a  mile  through 
the  sand,  during  which  the  drummers  bom 
barded  him  with  their  raw-edged  wit  all  the 
way  without  a  moment's  peace,  the  driver 
called,  "Whoa!"  and  the  horse  stopped  at  a 
gate  in  front  of  a  large,  double-winged,  old- 
fashioned  mansion,  set  back  from  the  street, 
with  big  pillars  two  stories  high.  The  old 
man  descended  from  his  perch. 

"Jes'  walk  right  in,  gem'mens,"  he  said 
31 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

with  a  new  air.  "  Yo'll  fin'  eve'ythin'  com- 
f  table,  and  de  cim'l  in  dyah  waitin'  supper 
fo'  de  guests." 

This  last,  at  least,  was  encouraging;  for 
the  night  air  and  the  trudge  through  the 
sand  had  whetted  our  appetites.  So,  with 
many  directions  to  him  to  take  care  of  their 
baggage,  the  "guests"  filed  up  the  path, 
and,  crossing  the  wide  and  somewhat  dilapi 
dated  porch,  entered  the  only  "fust-class 
hotel  in  Liberty." 

Before  us  was  a  large  hall,  at  present 
empty,  on  one  side  of  which,  beginning 
about  half-way  back,  curved  up  a  fine  old 
stairway  of  the  colonial  pattern,  with  fluted 
spindles.  On  each  side  were  rooms,  and  at 
the  back  two  doors  opened  on  the  rear. 
The  furnishings  were  a  long  table,  on  which 
stood  a  big  lamp  with  a  smoky  chimney  and 
two  or  three  well-thumbed  volumes;  half  a 
dozen  or  more  chairs  and  a  long  rack  on  the 
wall,  flanked  by  a  number  of  old  prints  of 
horses  and  dogs,  and  a  well-smoked  portrait 
of  an  elderly  gentleman  in  a  velvet  coat  and 
ruffles,  with  a  dress-sword  at  his  hip.  In 

32 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS7 

one  of  the  rooms  at  the  side,  which  presented 
the  appearance  of  a  sort  of  parlor,  an  old 
man  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  reading  a 
newspaper  by  a  dim  lamp  on  a  round  table 
with  a  heavy  carved  base;  but  if  he  heard 
us  enter,  he  took  no  notice  of  us,  and  we 
were  left  in  the  hall  to  our  own  devices  until 
the  old  darky  shambled  in  at  the  back  door, 
lugging  the  highly  prized  hand-bags. 


IV 

THE  young  men  stood  about,  inspecting 
the  scanty  and  battered  furniture  in  the 
apartment,  the  time-marked  prints  on  the 
wall,  and  the  objects  visible  through  the 
open  door  of  the  adjoining  room,  and  pass 
ing  criticisms  on  them,  mainly  jocular  and 
often  acute.  The  old  gentleman,  they  de 
cided,  was  probably  the  parlor-boarder,  en 
gaged  in  gleaning  last  year's  news  from  the 
weekly  newspaper.  Mack  hazarded  a  wager 
that  he  was  "an  old  Rebel  general  living 
on  his  memories  of  *  before  the  war',  and  a 
bottle."  The  bottle-clause  had  no  taker. 

33 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

Gradually  the  criticism  extended  until  it  in 
cluded  the  entire  region  and  everything  in  it, 
which  they  damned  generously  and  impar 
tially.  "It's  the  same  eternal  Southern 
shiftlessness,"  said  Mack,  to  which  the 
others  gave  a  hearty  assent. 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  of  a  presence: 
a  little  old  lady  in  black  had  appeared 
among  us,  though  where  she  came  from,  I 
scarcely  knew,  she  had  entered  so  quietly. 
She  went  around  and  spoke  to  each  one, 
extending  her  hand,  and  giving  us  all  a  word 
not  only  of  greeting,  but  of  welcome.  She 
was  a  quaint  little  lady,  very  spare  and 
meagre-looking,  with  bright,  kind  eyes,  and 
was  dressed  in  a  black  dress,  very  old  and 
much  worn,  with  a  white  kerchief  about  her 
throat.  Her  gray  hair,  brushed  simply 
over  her  temples,  added  to  the  old-time  air 
which  surrounded  her  and  appeared  to  per 
vade  the  place  as  she  entered.  When  she 
extended  her  welcome  to  me  I  observed  that 
the  hand  she  gave  me  was  curiously  small, 
and  so  hard  that  it  gave  me  a  pang.  It 
seemed  quite  incongruous  with  her  soft, 

34 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

silvery  hair,  delicate  features,  and  gentle 
air. 

"Will  you  write  your  name  for  me?"  she 
asked  with  a  smile,  as  she  turned  to  the  old 
ledger  on  the  table,  adding,  as  though  by 
way  of  apology,  "  I  like  to  have  my  friends 
write  their  names  down  so  that  I  can  re 
member  them." 

In  awkward  silence  one  man  after  another 
shambled  up  and  scribbled  his  name  and 
handed  the  pen  to  his  neighbor,  instead  of 
flinging  it  on  the  table  as  he  usually  did  at 
a  hotel.  They  were  beginning  to  be  under 
the  spell,  as  I  was. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  with  a  glance 
around  at  each  one,  "I  wonder  if  you  would 
not  like  to  run  up  to  your  rooms  before  sup 
per?  Supper  will  be  ready  soon.  It  will  be 
a  little  late  to-night,  as  we  had  a  little  acci 
dent  in  the  kitchen;  but  it  will  be  ready,  I 
hope,  in  a  short  while.  How  many  are 
there  of  you?"  She  counted  us:  "One,  two, 
three,  four,  five,  six.  Oh,  dear!  I  have 
only  four  rooms  ready.  I  wonder  if  any  of 
you  happen  to  be  brothers?"  she  inquired. 

35 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Yes,  those  two  are  brothers/'  declared 
Mack,  pointing  shamelessly  at  a  dark  little 
fellow  with  an  Italian  face  and  at  the  light 
est-haired  man  in  the  lot.  "And  those 
two."  He  pointed  at  me  and  the  one  called 
Marion.  All  four  of  us  protested,  but  if 
Mrs.  Garnett  heard,  she  paid  no  heed  to  us. 

"Well,  supper  will  be  ready  directly," 
she  said,  "so  you  may  want  to  go  to  your 
rooms.  And  I  will  have  your  valises  sent 
up  as  soon  as  my  servant  comes  in — unless," 
she  added  as  an  afterthought,  "you  prefer 
to  take  them  up  with  you,  as  he  has  to  look 
after  his  horse."  I  set  the  example  by 
grabbing  my  bag,  and  the  others  rather 
gloomily  followed  suit.  Thus  armed,  we 
waited. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "you  don't  know  your 
rooms,  do  you?  Of  course  not.  Well,  I 
must  show  you,  and  you  can  suit  yourselves. 
Come  along."  She  proceeded  to  pilot  us 
up  the  broad,  bare  stairway,  followed  by 
the  procession  of  drummers,  who  were  nudg 
ing  and  hinting  to  one  another  their  views 
of  the  Planters'  and  their  determination  to 

36 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

"get  out  of  that"  by  the  first  train  the  next 
day.  The  selection  of  rooms  rather  in 
creased  this  decision.  The  chambers  were 
large  and  absolutely  bare  of  all  but  the 
necessary  furniture;  but  that  was  of  rose 
wood  and  mahogany,  high,  testered  beds 
and  dressers,  once  handsome,  now  much  bat 
tered  and  defaced.  I  must  say  they  were 
clean,  a  rare  and  unlooked-for  virtue.  Ma 
rion  and  I,  as  brothers,  took  one  together. 
A  minute  later  the  old  darky  bustled  in, 
perspiring  freely  with  his  haste.  "OP  Miss" 
had  sent  him  "to  see  if  de  gem'mens  wanted 
anything."  What  we  wanted  we  did  not 
say. 


PRESENTLY  a  bell  sounded  down-stairs, 
and  we  all  descended.  I  was  struck  with 
the  change  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
made  in  the  young  men.  In  the  interval 
all  had  brushed  their  hair,  and  nearly  all 
had  put  on  clean  collars.  The  Jew's  crinkly 
curls  glistened  with  the  water  that  was  still 
on  them,  while  the  heads  of  most  of  the 

37 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

others  were  brushed  as  smooth  as  energy 
and  care  could  make  them. 

The  lady  was  waiting  for  us  down-stairs. 
Still  we  waited,  and  impatience  began  to  be 
manifested  in  more  faces  than  one.  In  a 
moment,  however,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
same  old  colored  man  we  had  seen  appeared 
with  a  waiter  under  his  arm. 

"Is  Master  down?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"Yas'm;  he's  in  dyah,"  said  the  old 
darky. 

"Will  you  walk  in?"  she  said  pleasantly, 
when  she  was  satisfied  that  we  were  all  pres 
ent  or  accounted  for.  She  turned  toward 
the  door.  The  man  who  stood  nearest  was 
about  to  swing  in  at  the  door  ahead  of  her, 
but  Marion,  who  stood  next  him,  seized 
him  by  the  arm  with  a  grip  that  made  him 
wince,  and  Mrs.  Garnett  swept  in.  I  caught 
sight  of  the  same  back  I  had  seen  in  the 
other  room.  The  man  was  seated  at  the 
foot  of  the  table,  but  rose  on  our  entrance 
and  bowed  to  us. 

"My  husband,  gentlemen,"  said  the  lady 
with  a  smile  so  natural  that  we  all  felt 

38 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

rebuked,  or,  at  least,  lost  our  manner  of 
levity. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
old  fellow,  with  a  bow  so  grand  that  I  was 
quite  unprepared  for  it.  "Won't  you  take 
seats?"  He  spoke  quite  as  if  we  were  his 
guests,  and  the  awkward  way  in  which  my 
fellow-travellers  shuffled  into  their  chairs  tes 
tified  their  unwonted  embarrassment.  Even 
the  Jew  and  Mack  kept  silence,  and  under 
some  accession  of  respect  forbore  to  wipe 
their  plates  with  their  napkins.  If,  how 
ever,  the  Colonel,  as  he  was  called  by  his 
neighbors,  observed  it,  he  gave  no  sign.  He 
opened  the  conversation,  at  the  same  mo 
ment  that  he  took  up  his  carving-knife,  and 
led  it  along  easy  lines,  addressing  himself 
now  to  the  table  at  large,  now  to  each  per 
son,  whom  he  addressed  as,  "You,  sir." 

"The  train  was  a  little  late,"  he  observed. 
"Our  roads  are  shamefully  conducted  by 
these  new  gentry  who  have  come  down" — 
he  did  not  specify  from  where,  but  it  was 
plain  what  region  he  indicated — "and  are 
undertaking  to  gobble  up  everything."  He 

39 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

hoped  his  servant  had  been  on  time  to  meet 
us  and  bring  up  our  "carpet-bags."  This 
word  he  corrected  a  moment  later,  and  used 
the  term  "  baggage."  The  negroes  were  "  so 
trifling  these  days"  that  one  could  never 
count  on  them;  "utterly  inefficient,"  he  de 
clared  them;  but  he  admitted  that  Julius 
Daniel  was  quite  an  unusual  man  for  a 
negro.  "He  owns  a  little  wagon  and  horse 
which  he  uses  to  bring  baggage  up  from  the 
station,  and  is  quite  an  exceptional  man." 
This  reference  he  made  while  Julius  was  out 
of  the  room  purveying  a  fresh  assortment  of 
batter-cakes,  and  I  observed  that  he  never 
referred  to  the  "negroes"  in  Julius's  pres 
ence.  This  led  him  to  the  subject  of  the 
war,  and  he  was  soon  deep  in  the  campaigns 
of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  which, 
by  his  account,  were  one  long  blaze  of  glori 
ous  victories,  undimmed  by  a  single  reverse. 
In  the  midst  of  his  account,  one  of  the  boys, 
who  travelled  for  "yarns,"  asked,  "Were 
you  in  the  war?" 

"Sir?"  said  the  colonel,  who  thought  he 
had  not  heard  him  correctly. 

40 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

"Were  you  in  the  war?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  colonel,  quietly,  and 
turning,  he  addressed  a  man  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  and  never  again  looked  at 
the  questioner;  nor  did  he  again  refer  to  the 
war,  but  spoke  entirely  of  what  had  oc 
curred  "before  the  war,"  when,  as  he  said 
frankly,  "he  lived,"  adding  that  now  he 
"only  existed." 

Mrs.  Garnett,  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
dispensed  her  tea  and  coffee  with  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  a  lady  to  her  guests,  and  I  ob 
served  that  she  did  not  eat  a  mouthful. 
Through  an  open  door  behind  her  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  stout  old  colored  woman  mov 
ing  about,  and  once  I  thought  I  saw  a  young 
girl,  with  a  plate  in  her  hand,  peeping  in  at 
the  door  and  smilingly  beckoning  to  Julius. 

When  we  were  through  supper,  the  old 
fellow  at  the  foot  of  the  table  rose  and,  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand,  said:  "The  smoking- 
room  is  across  the  hall,  gentlemen."  Then 
with  a  bow  to  his  wife :  "  My  dear,  you  will 
excuse  us?"  And  we  all  followed  him,  feel 
ing  much  as  if  we  were  in  a  play.  I  must 

41 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

say  that  my  respect  for  him  rose,  and  so,  I 
think,  did  that  of  the  others,  for  he  treated 
us  as  a  host  treats  his  guests,  offering  us 
pipes,  of  which  there  was  a  small  and  bat 
tered  collection,  and  apologizing  for  not  hav 
ing  any  cigars,  after  having  called  Julius  and 
inquired  if  there  were  not  some. 

"Well,  please  remind  me  to  get  some  to 
morrow,'5  he  said. 

"Yes,  suh;  but  to-morrer's  Sunday,"  said 
the  old  negro. 

"Sunday?  So  it  is.  Well,  remind  me 
on  Monday." 

"Yes,  suh."     Julius  solemnly  withdrew. 

"They  have  no  memory  whatever,  none 
whatsoever,"  observed  the  old  fellow  in  a 
tone  of  resignation  when  Julius  had  retired. 

Through  an  open  window  the  hum  of 
voices  came  to  me,  and  I  caught  sight  of  the 
glint  of  a  white  dress  passing  down  the  walk, 
and  thought  I  recognized  beside  it  in  the 
dusk  the  straight  back  and  slouched  hat  of 
a  young  man  I  had  seen  on  the  train.  Sud 
denly,  as  the  latch  clicked,  the  old  colonel 
rose,  and,  with  a  bow  like  that  with  which 

42 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

he  had  greeted  us,  said:  "Well,  gentlemen,  I 
regret  that  I  have  to  leave  you.  The  in 
firmities  of  age  begin  to  press  upon  me,  and 
an  old  wound  sometimes  gives  me  trouble; 
so  I  have  to  retire  rather  early  and  get  my 
sleep.  I  believe  you  all  know  your  rooms, 
and  Julius  will  be  on  hand  in  case  you  re 
quire  anything.  Pray  ring  for  whatever 
you  need.  Good  night."  And  with  an 
other  bow  he  shuffled  off. 

One  man  after  another  had  awkwardly 
risen  from  his  seat  under  some  unwonted, 
but  compelling  impulse  to  do  what  they  pos 
sibly  had  not  done  in  all  the  years  of  their 
travelling.  As  the  door  closed,  the  little 
Jew  turned,  and,  with  a  shrug  and  spread 
of  his  hands  outward,  said:  "Veil,  he's  a 
new  von  on  me.  I  haf  seen  'em  all,  but  he's 
new  goods.  What  you  make  of  him  ?  You 
haf  lived  before  the  war."  He  addressed 
himself  to  Marion.  The  traveller  for  yarns 
answered  for  him. 

"He  has  gone  to  lay  up  to  his  bottle." 
This  created  a  diversion  in  which  the  old 
fellow's  reputation  somewhat  suffered,  as, 

43 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

one  after  another,  the  drummers,  released 
from  the  unaccountable  influence  of  his 
presence,  sank  back  into  their  habitual  atti 
tude  of  cavilling  criticism.  One  recalled  the 
old  man's  dissatisfaction  with  everything 
since  the  war.  Another  cited  his  allowing 
his  wife  to  attend  to  the  business  of  the 
establishment;  while  several  others  united 
in  criticising  his  views  on  the  Negro,  though 
the  old  negro  whom  we  had  seen  appeared 
to  do  all  the  work.  Thus,  when  we  went 
to  bed  the  attitude  was  one  of  hostility  to 
the  colonel  and  of  growing  criticism  toward 
everything  in  the  house.  That  the  Pied 
Piper  had  not  piped  all  the  rats  away,  I 
could  have  testified  that  night. 


VI 

NEXT  morning,  although  I  descended  to 
breakfast  rather  late,  it  being  Sunday,  I 
found  myself  among  the  earliest,  and  one  by 
one  my  companions  of  the  evening  before 
drifted  in.  Mrs.  Garnett  was  seated  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  her  greeting  made 

44 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

amends,  at  least  to  me,  for  the  delay  in  get 
ting  breakfast.  The  meal  did  not  differ  in 
many  respects  from  that  of  the  evening  be 
fore,  the  chief  difference  consisting  in  a 
larger  assortment  of  hot  bread,  and  in  old 
Julius's  clean  shirt  and  high  collar.  In  the 
glare  of  the  daylight  our  hostess  looked 
older  and  more  worn  than  she  had  done  the 
night  before,  and,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  her  attire  was  more  carefully  arranged, 
it  looked  even  more  threadbare  than  it  had 
done  in  the  softened  lamp-light.  The  col 
onel  did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  and  old 
Julius  did  the  honors,  urging  "anuther  cake, 
gem'men?"  or  "jes  a  cup  of  coffee?"  in  ac 
cents  as  soft  as  velvet. 

Presently,  just  after  the  last  of  her  guests 
had  entered  and  she  had  poured  out  his 
coffee,  the  hostess  addressed  the  table  at 
large:  "Now,  young  gentlemen,  how  many 
of  you  will  accompany  me  to  church?  I 
hope  you  all  will.  We  have  two  pews,  and 
have  the  privilege  of  as  many  more  sit 
tings  as  we  need,  and  even  if  we  are  a  little 
late- 

45 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

I  never  saw  such  undisguised  astonish 
ment  as  that  which  sat  upon  the  faces  of  the 
entire  company.  They  were  too  surprised 
to  laugh,  which  I  greatly  feared  they  might 
do.  The  young  Jew  was  equal  to  the  emer 
gency.  "Veil,  Fm  a  Jew,"  he  said,  looking 
her  guilelessly  in  the  face.  "My  Sabbath 
vas  yesterday." 

"I'm  a  Catholic,"  said  the  traveller  for 
notions,  "and  I'm  afraid  of  Father  Horri- 
gan."  He  winked  openly  at  Marion,  who 
looked  away  and  refused  to  see  him. 

"I  am  sure  it  would  not  do  you  any 
harm,"  said  the  lady,  mildly;  "and  if  Father 
Horrigan  is  as  good  a  man  as  I  hope  he  is,  he 
will  understand.  However,  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  go  against  your  conscience."  The 
snicker,  audible  down  the  table,  was,  I  sup 
pose,  at  the  idea  of  Dalling's  having  a  con 
science;  but  Marion,  to  break  the  effect, 
announced  his  wish  to  accompany  her.  I 
followed  suit,  and  so  did  the  two  other 
young  men,  bent,  as  I  believe,  on  sheer  mis 
chief,  though  another  possible  reason  for  it 
appeared  a  few  minutes  later. 

46 


THE  OLD   PLANTERS' 

I  was  seated  in  the  smoking-room  with 
my  back  to  the  door,  which  was  open,  when 
I  became  aware  that  something  was  taking 
place  in  the  hall,  on  which  the  attention  of 
my  companions  was  suddenly  riveted.  Fol 
lowing  their  glance,  I  saw  Mrs.  Garnett  in 
the  act  of  presenting  her  escorts  to  a  young 
lady,  who,  simply  attired  in  white,  with  a 
large,  white  hat  round  which  was  wrapped 
some  soft,  white  stuff,  seemed  suddenly  to 
transform  the  entire  establishment.  An 
old  colored  woman  was  at  the  moment  on 
her  knees  behind  her,  arranging  her  skirt, 
her  eyes  on  her  full  of  adoring  affection,  her 
white  teeth  gleaming  with  gratified  pride, 
and  when  the  young  lady  turned  and  smiled 
down  at  her,  she  gave  an  answering  nod  of 
complete  satisfaction.  When  I  joined  them, 
I  was  presented  to  "My  daughter,"  and  I 
quite  understood  Wilson's  unfinished  refer 
ence  of  the  evening  before  to  the  "all-fired" 
something,  and  his  instinctive  tug  at  his 
necktie.  Her  face  had  a  charm  in  which  I 
thought  grave  responsibility  had  played  its 
part,  for  the  frank  smile  in  her  eyes  was 

47 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

deepened  by  the  firmer  lines  about  the 
mouth.  But  I  own  that  a  large,  white  hat 
shading  a  lovely  face,  lighted  by  beautiful 
eyes,  quite  destroys  my  judgment  as  to  de 
tails.  It  is  the  proper  canopy  of  romance. 

So,  leaving  the  others, — I  thought,  in  a 
somewhat  crestfallen  condition, — we  went 
to  church,  where  we  sat  high  up  in  a  pew, 
evidently  one  of  the  best,  among  "the  qual 
ity,"  and  heard  a  perfectly  sound  and  arid 
sermon.  When  we  came  out  we  found  the 
rest  of  my  fellow-travellers  standing  some 
what  obtrusively  among  the  throng  that 
lined  the  sidewalk  to  see  the  congregation 
come  forth,  and  certainly  a  dozen  young 
men,  obviously  waiting  to  ask  the  privilege 
of  escorting  our  young  lady  home,  of  whom 
the  young  fellow  I  had  seen  on  the  train 
bore  off  the  honors.  We  knew  that  after 
noon  from  Julius  that  "Mist'  Calvert"  was 
a  "mighty  fine  gem'man." 

The  old  colonel  showed  off  better  in 
church  than  he  had  done  the  evening  before ; 
in  fact,  he  was  a  dignified  figure  in  his  thread 
bare  black  coat,  his  limp,  but  speckless 

48 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

linen,  frayed  collar,  and  worn  necktie.  But 
it  was  not  at  the  colonel  that  my  young 
men  gazed. 

The  dinner  was  late;  but  was  good,  and, 
as  I  discovered  afterward,  was  prepared,  at 
least  in  part,  by  the  young  lady  who  had 
adorned  the  pew  at  the  morning  service, 
and  who  now,  having  doffed  her  church 
apparel,  turned  Abigail  and  served  the 
meal.  I  caught,  through  an  open  door,  a 
glimpse  of  her  with  sleeves  rolled  up  over 
arms  round  enough  to  have  served  as  mod 
els  to  restore  those  the  Venus  of  Melos  had 
lost,  an  apron  up  to  her  white  throat,  and  a 
stout  old  negro  woman  helping  her  to  dress 
a  cake.  That  afternoon  we  all  knew  that 
she  taught  in  the  Sunday-school,  and  later 
we  knew  from  Mack  that  she  had  gone  to 
walk  with  that  "same  young  fellow,"  as 
Mack  termed  him,  with  something  of  repro 
bation  in  his  tone.  The  effect  on  the  young 
men  was  striking  and  immediate.  I  never 
knew  a  greater  or  more  sudden  accession  of 
piety,  and  Father  Horrigan,  if  the  extreme 
constructionist  that  Dalling  had  declared 

49 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

him,  would  have  been  scandalized  by  his 
parishioner's  backsliding.  Next  morning 
not  a  man  was  late  to  breakfast,  and  when 
the  young  lady  started  for  the  school  which 
she  taught,  little  Mack  nearly  broke  his 
neck  to  open  the  gate  for  her. 

When  we  came  away  no  one  was  about 
except  old  Julius,  and  presently  one  of  the 
boys  said  to  him :  "  I  want  to  pay  my  bill  and 
get  off." 

"I'll  teck  it,"  said  the  old  fellow,  simply. 
So  we  paid  him,  and  left  our  good-bys  for 
our  hostess. 

VII 

I  DID  not  visit  Liberty  again  for  two  years ; 
but  when  I  had  occasion  to  return  there,  on 
the  same  jolty  little  train  I  found  little 
Mack  and  almost  the  same  set  of  drummers. 
As  the  young  men  fell  into  conversation  I 
fancied  I  saw  some  change  in  them.  What 
was  it?  They  had  undoubtedly  refined. 
They  were  less  loud  and  a  trifle  less  vulgar. 
They  were  all  headed  for  Liberty  to  spend 
Sunday,  which  in  itself  surprised  me,  and  I 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

began  to  ask  questions  about  our  friends  of 
the  Planters'. 

"Oh,  the  Planters'  was  about  the  same; 
but  that  was  all  right,  and — yes,  eoV 
mistis'  was  all  right  and  the  '  colonel,'  too, 
just  the  same — let  his  wife  and  daughter  do 
all  the  work  while  he  'held  his  job  down/ 
telling  'how  trifling  the  niggers  are'  and  hit 
ting  the  bottle."  This  view  of  the  colonel 
was  warmly  contested  by  Mack. 

"I  know  the  sort.  It's  the  Southern  of 
it,"  put  in  unexpectedly  a  new  man  who 
had  been  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  car. 
Mack  turned  on  him  with  a  cold  gleam  in 
his  eye.  "Travelled  in  the  South  much?" 

"No;  and  don't  want  to,  either." 

"What  do  you  travel  for?" 

"Brass  goods." 

"Thought  so,"  said  Mack,  shortly,  and, 
turning  his  back  on  him,  lowered  his  tone. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  what  Plane,  of  Plane 
&  Snapper,  said  about  him?"  he  asked  us. 
"He  said  that  he'd  tried  to  help  him;  but 
he  just  couldn't  be  helped — couldn't  do  a 
thing  in  the  world.  But  that  was  all  straight 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

goods  those  fellows  gave  us  about  him  in  the 
war — chargin'  the  battery,  and  about  his 
being  shot  through,  and  asking  the  fellow  to 
please  lend  him  his  arm;  but  he  said  he  was 
"all  in'  years  ago — said  he  was  just  ' ineffi 
cient/  " 

Presently  I  discovered  that  nearly  every 
one  of  them  was  bringing  some  contribution 
to  the  larder,  or  some  present  to  his  friends. 
One  had  something  vaguely  characterized 
as  "canned  goods,"  which  he  was  taking 
down  "from  his  mother,"  though  he  casu 
ally  mentioned  that  his  mother  had  died 
when  he  was  six  years  old,  and  he'd  "like  to 
know  what  his  old  man's  ' second  order' 
would  think  of  it  if  she  were  asked  to  con 
tribute  anything  to  anybody  on  earth.  She 
had  never  let  the  old  man  give  him  a  cent 
since  he  was  twelve."  Yet  another  had  a 
box  of  cigars  for  the  colonel,  which  he 
brazenly  declared  he  would  give  him  as 
Havanas,  though  they  were  made  by  Wrap 
&  Co.,  of  Norwalk,  Connecticut.  "He'll 
never  know  the  difference;  wait  and  see." 
Another  had  a  turkey  which  his  sisters  were 

52 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

sending  down  as  a  token  of  their  apprecia 
tion  of  Mrs.  Garnett's  trying  to  get  him  to 
go  to  church.  "What  did  I  say  their  names 
were,  Skin?"  he  asked  his  friend  in  the  next 
seat.  "I  know  I  tried  to  give  'em  'quality 
names/  as  old  Jule  says." 

"That  comes  of  trying  to  get  a  gloss  on," 
commented  his  friend. 

So  it  went.  Nearly  every  one  had  picked 
out  something  to  eke  out  the  fare  these 
young  knights  of  the  sample-case  thought 
too  scanty  for  their  needs,  yet  were  willing 
to  put  up  with  for  some  undefined  compen 
sation.  I  wondered  what  it  could  be.  I 
wondered  how  much  of  their  surprising  new 
interest  in  the  Planters'  was  due  to  the 
youngest  member  of  the  colony;  but  I  got 
no  inkling  of  this. 

We  landed  at  Liberty  about  the  same 
hour  and  in  much  the  same  way  that  we 
had  landed  there  before.  Old  Julius  was  on 
hand,  but  this  time  the  greeting  was  wholly 
different.  The  young  men  were  now  plainly 
on  intimate  terms  with  the  old  negro. 

"Hello,  Uncle  Jule!"  "Hello,  old  man; 
how's  everybody?"  they  called. 

53 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"  G'd  even',  gem'mens.  All's  well,  thanky, 
suh.  Who's  dat  ?  Why,  hi !  Ef  dat  ain't 
Mister  Marion!  Dat  you,  Mister  Mack? 
How's  you  all,  gem'mens?  Umhum!  Got 
a  big  bus  full  to-night." 

'' You've  got  a  bus,  have  you?  New 
one,  I  suppose  ?  Four  horses,  rubber  tires  ? 
Well,  fetch  it  around."  So  they  pelted  him 
with  questions  as  he  busied  himself  among 
their  bags,  his  face  lighted  up  by  the  fitful 
gleam  of  the  smoky  lantern.  But  now  the 
tone  was  friendly.  And  the  answer  was  a 
laugh.  "Bus  'nough  to  git  de  ol'  man  a 
extry  quarter  or  two." 

"  How's  everybody  ?    OF  miss  ? " 

"  All  fust-rate,  gem'mens.  Dey'll  cert'n'y 
be  glad  to  see  you.  De  cun'l  was  sayin'  las' 
week  'twas  'bout  time  for  you  all  to  be 
along." 

"Is  that  so?"  The  speech  had  been  ad 
dressed  to  the  group,  and  the  reply  was  gen 
eral  and  appreciative. 

"Yes,  suh,  dat  he  was.  He  was  talkin' 
'bout  you  jes  yistidy,  Mr.  Marion." 

"He  was?"  The  old  traveller  was  mani 
festly  pleased. 

54 


THE  OLD   PLANTERS' 

"Yes,  suh.  He  axed  me  ef  I  thought  de 
bar'l  o'  flour  'd  hold  out.  'T  you  ought  to 
be  along  'most  any  time,  now." 

"He's  gauged  you,  all  right,  old  man," 
clamored  the  others.  The  negro  was  taken 
rather  aback  by  the  application  of  his  mas 
ter's  speech. 

"No,  suh,  gem'mens.  De  cun'l  he  didn't 
mean  nothin'  like  dat.  He  likes  a  gem'man 
to  be  a  hearty  feeder.  Dat's  what  mecks 
him  lak  you  gem'mens.  He  say  he  never 
see  such  a  hearty  feeder  in  his  life." 

Perhaps  it  was  to  create  a  diversion  that 
the  hearty  feeder  asked:  "How  are  the 
rats?" 

"  De  rats  ?     De  ain't  a  rat  on  de  place." 

"There  ain't?  What's  become  of  'em? 
Eaten  'em?" 

"No,  suh,  not  a  rat,"  persisted  the  old 
man.  "De  cun'l  tol'  me  not  long  ago  to  git 
rid  of  'em,  if  I  had  to  bu'n  de  house  down." 

"  That's  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of  them 
rats,"  interpolated  Marion. 

"Cause  he  said,"  pursued  the  old  negro, 
"he   was    p'intedly    afeared    Mr.    Marion 

55 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

wouldn't  come  back  no  mo'.  He  said  he 
never  see  a  man  so  skeered  o'  rats  in  his 
life.  Dat  he  warn't  as  much  afeared  o'  Yan 
kees  endurin'  de  war  as  Mr.  Marion  was  o' 
rats." 

"They  weren't  as  dangerous,"  said  Ma 
rion,  amid  laughter. 

Just  as  we  were  about  to  start,  some  one 
asked  in  a  querulous  voice  if  we  could  tell 
him  what  the  best  hotel  was,  and  how  he 
could  get  there.  It  was  the  man  who  had 
been  snubbed  on  the  train  by  little  Mack. 
No  one  had  taken  any  notice  of  him,  and 
now  he  was  in  a  very  bad  humor. 

"Uncle  Jule,"  called  Mack,  without  look 
ing  at  him,  "here's  some  one  wants  to  know 
what's  the  best  hotel  in  Liberty.  Can  you 
tell  him?" 

The  old  darky  descended  solemnly  from 
his  wagon,  on  which  he  had  perched  himself, 
and,  hat  in  hand,  bowed  to  the  stranger. 
"Oh,  yes,  suh.  De  Planters' 's  de  on'y  fust- 
class  hotel  in  Liberty.  Jes  gimme  yo' 
checks,  suh." 

"How  far  is  it?"  demanded  the  stranger. 
56 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

"'Tain't  so  fur.  Jes  a  little  ways.  You 
gimme  yo'  carpet-bag.  You  jes  follow  dese 
gem'mens.  Dee's  all  goin'  dyah.  You  can't 
git  'em  to  go  nowhere  else.  You  ax  'em." 

"What  sort  of  a  hotel  is  it?"  asked  the 
new-comer. 

"Good  enough  for  us,"  answered  one  of 
the  young  men,  shortly. 

"Where's  the  bus?" 

"Uncle  Jule,  show  him  the  bus." 

"Well,  ur — de  bus  ain'  heah  dis  evenin'," 
said  the  old  man  diplomatically.  "But 
you  jes  foller  dese  gem'mens;  dey  loves  to 
walk." 

"Well,  I  don't,  I  want  a  conveyance." 

"No,  you  want  the  world  with  a  new 
painted  fence  around  it,"  snapped  one  of 
the  drummers.  The  stranger  was  evidently 
angered. 

"It's  this  confounded  Southern  shiftless- 
ness,"  he  snarled. 

"Yes,  that's  it — you  know  all  about  it," 
assented  a  familiar  voice  out  of  the  group. 
"Where  are  you  from?"  It  was  little 
Mack. 

57 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"  From  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line, 
thank  God!" 

"You  are  thankful  for  small  favors," 
sneered  Mack,  who  was  himself  from  Hart 
ford,  Connecticut.  "What'd  they  run  you 
out  for?" 

"  Run  me  out  ?  I  wasn't  run  out.  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  wouldn't  have  come 
down  to  a  country  you  think  so  ill  of,  if  you 
could  'a'  stayed  anywhere  else." 

"I'm  travelling  down  this  way  for  my 
health,"  growled  the  other. 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  the 
little  drummer,  "your  health  will  not  be 
improved  by  expressing  views  like  that 
around  the  Planters'." 

The  walk  up  through  the  sand  was  as 
before;  but  only  Tompkins,  the  stranger, 
swore  at  it.  The  others,  whether  amused  at 
his  unhappiness  or  accustomed  to  it,  were 
good-humored  and  lively. 

The  greeting  we  received  was  enough  to 
have  put  even  an  older  lot  of  wayfarers  in 
good  humor.  If  we  had  been  cousins,  that 

58 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

generic  name  by  which  are  known  all  who 
have  even  a  drop  of  common  blood,  we 
could  not  have  received  a  warmer  welcome 
from  the  mistress;  and  even  the  colonel, 
though  he  had  manifestly  failed  since  I  saw 
him  last,  was  most  cordial,  and  as  soon  as 
the  names  of  the  young  men  had  been  re 
called  to  him,  asked  particularly  about  their 
families. 

At  the  table  I  observed  that  Jake  and 
little  Mack  had  laid  aside  their  flaming 
neck-gear  and  travelling-men's  hotel  man 
ners,  and  whatever  came  in  at  the  door  be 
hind  Mrs.  Garnett's  right  shoulder  was  "de 
licious."  When  Miss  Garnett  came  in  with 
a  plate  of  cakes,  every  man  was  on  his  feet 
instantly. 

It  was  astonishing  what  early  risers  they 
became,  how  often  their  way  lay  in  the 
direction  of  Miss  Garnett's  school,  though 
it  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and 
how  regular  they  grew  to  be  at  early  Sun 
day  tea.  As  far  as  I  could  learn,  no  one 
of  them  except  possibly  Mack  ever  vent 
ured  to  speak  a  word  of  gallantry  to  her, 

59 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

though  I  heard  of  Jake's  once  saying  to 
Marion,  "I  vish  her  name  vas  Rachel." 
An  indefinable  something  seemed  to  wall 
her  around  and  shield  her.  Little  Mack 
overwhelmed  her  with  plush-covered  boxes 
of  every  hue  and  shape,  which  bespoke  his 
sentiment  as  different  flowers  conveyed  that 
of  older,  but  not  more  ardent  suitors.  It 
was  evident,  indeed,  that  several  of  the 
"guests"  had  fallen  under  her  spell.  I 
knew  of  their  guilefully  misleading  her  on 
the  street  when  the  colonel  would  be  making 
his  way  slowly  homeward  after  having  lin 
gered  too  long  with  some  old  comrade  to 
discuss  a  battle  or  an  extra  julep,  though  he 
was  never  really  intoxicated;  and  little 
Mack  first  snubbed,  then  openly  insulted, 
the  dyspeptic  and  ill-bred  youth  who,  as 
stated,  was  out  on  his  first  trip  through  the 
South.  When  the  latter  came  to  the  table 
the  evening  following  our  arrival,  it  was 
soon  apparent  that  he  had  a  grievance 
against  the  entire  region,  and  proposed  to 
air  it.  He  called  for  things  that  only  a 
first-class  hotel  could  furnish,  and  with 

60 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

every  bow  and  apology  from  old  Julius  that 
they  were  "  jes  out/'  and  every  expression  of 
regret  from  "ol'  miss'-  that  they  did  not 
have  that,  he  gave  a  sniff,  until  little  Mack, 
with  a  snap  in  his  eyes,  chipped  in  to  the 
rescue  with  the  point-blank  suggestion  that 
he  must  have  been  a  cook.  The  new  arrival 
flared  up,  but  Mack  had  the  gallery,  and 
when  Tompkins  began  to  boast  about  his 
house  selling  everything  in  brass,  Mack 
asked  innocently,  "Brass  monkeys?" 

"Yes,  brass  monkeys,  too,  if  you  want 
them." 

"No,"  said  Mack.  "I  don't  like  the 
sample." 

As  Tompkins  left  the  table  he  said  audi 
bly:  "This  is  the  rottenest  hotel  I  ever 
struck."  If  Mrs.  Garnett  heard,  she  did  not 
show  it;  she  only  looked  down  in  her  plate. 
Little  Mack  strolled  out,  and  half  an  hour 
later,  with  a  cut  lip  and  a  black  eye,  he 
handed  Mrs.  Garnett  a  letter  with  an  apol 
ogy  from  Tompkins  for  having  been  rude  to 
her.  Tompkins  took  his  breakfast  in  his 
room  the  next  morning,  and  when  I  saw 

61 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

him  on  his  way  to  the  train  that  evening,  the 
manner  in  which  Mack  had  extorted  the 
apology  was  rubricated  over  his  face.  I 
was  not  surprised  to  observe  later  that  old 
Julius  always  began  the  hot  cakes  at  Mack's 
seat,  or  that  the  colonel  offered  him  first 
his  cigars,  which  he  said  his  friend  Jake 
had  done  him  the  honor  to  bring  him, 
adding,  "I  am  assured  they  are  the  finest 
Havanas." 

But  Tompkins's  troubles  were  not  over. 
His  bag  had  been  cut  by  rats,  and  he  had 
refused  to  settle  his  small  board-bill,  having 
no  doubt  a  feeling  of  having  been  badly 
used,  and  taking  this  method  of  settling  the 
damage  done  to  his  property.  I  was  leaving 
by  the  same  train,  which,  as  happened,  was 
considerably  late,  and  thus  was  present  in 
the  waiting-room  when  Nemesis,  in  the  per 
son  of  old  Charlotte,  the  wife  of  Julius, 
panting  and  perspiring  from  her  rapid  walk 
through  the  sand,  strode  in  at  the  door.  A 
man's  slouch  hat  was  on  her  head,  and  she 
had  on  her  kitchen  apron.  A  glance  of  the 
eye  picked  the  delinquent  out  from  the 

62 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

other  half-dozen  passengers  waiting,    and 
she  walked  up  to  him. 

"You'sMr.  Tompkins?" 

"Who  says  so?"  asked  Tompkins  surlily. 

"I  says  so — I  knows  you.  I  don'  wonder 
you's  'shamed  to  own  it." 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"My  mistis's  money,  what  you  owes 
her." 

"I  don't.  Who  says  I  owe  her ?  Who  is 
your  mistis?" 

"I  does;  I  says  you  owes  her,  and  you 
knows  you  does.  Mr.  Mack  done  had  to 
whip  you  once  'bout  bein'  impident  to  her, 
and  I  don't  want  to  have  to  git  after  you." 
She  glared  at  him  with  so  instant  a  gaze 
that  the  young  man  quailed.  He  put  his 
hand  in  his  pocket. 

"I  paid  all  I  owe,  and  more,  too." 

"You  didn't." 

"I  did.  I  paid  all  but  enough  to  pay  for 
the  rats  cutting  my  bag." 

"Rats!  Never  was  a  rat  in  dat  house. 
Gimme  my  mistis's  money." 

"How  much  is  it?"  he  growled. 
63 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"You  knows  how  much  't  is,  and  I  knows: 
gif  't  to  me." 

Tompkins  counted  out  a  small  sum  re 
luctantly.  "I  was  going  to  send  it  back," 
he  growled — which,  I  think,  indeed,  was 
possibly  the  truth;  but  it  did  not  satisfy 
the  old  woman. 

"'Was  gwine5  ain'  doin'  it,"  she  snapped 
implacably. 

"I  want  a  receipt  for  it,"  growled  Tomp 
kins. 

r'You  want  dat  you  ain'  gwine  git,"  she 
said. 

She  turned  and  bowed  impressively  to 
the  rest  of  us.  "Good  even',  gem'mens;  I 
ain'  gwine  see  my  old  miss'  money  stoled 
by  no  po'  white  trash."  And  she  marched 
out  of  the  door. 

VIII 

" FUNNY  old  place,  ain't  it?"  queried  one 
of  the  young  men,  who,  like  myself,  turned 
up  to  spend  Sunday  at  the  Old  Planters' 
a  week  later.  "Now,  that  old  fellow  ought 
to  have  a  gold  mine  right  here;  and  if 

64 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS7 

he  had  it,  he  wouldn't  open  it."  To  some 
extent  this  was  true.  After  making  allow 
ances  for  the  colonel,  his  best  friend  must 
have  admitted  that  he  was  now  about  as 
"inefficient,"  to  use  his  neighbor's  word, 
as  a  man  could  be.  Adverse  fortune  and 
conditions  had  done  their  work,  and  possi 
bly  "laying  up  to  the  bottle,"  as  Jake  char 
acterized  it,  had  done  its  part,  though  he 
never  appeared  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 
He  was  simply  a  derelict,  too  battered  and 
broken  by  the  storm  that  had  swept  over 
him  to  make  any  headway  or  answer  to  any 
rudder,  and  he  now  lay  awash  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea,  waiting  for  the  final  wave  to 
drive  him  beneath  the  surface.  His  face 
had  grown  perceptibly  more  pallid  and  va 
cant,  his  air  more  absent,  his  step  more  un 
certain,  and  but  for  the  motive  power  fur 
nished  by  his  wife  and  daughter,  he  would 
doubtless  have  come  to  a  standstill  and 
ceased  to  be.  It  was  only  on  rare  occasions 
that  his  mental  machinery  now  gave  signs 
of  motion.  In  the  presence  of  a  lady  any 
where,  or  of  a  guest  in  his  own  house,  the 

65 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

gentleman  in  him  still  flashed  out  after  the 
man  had  almost  faded  into  vacuity.  His 
wife's  manner  to  him  was  wonderful.  It 
was  maternal.  She  treated  him  as  an  in 
dulgent  mother  treats  a  feeble  child,  and 
yet  paid  him  a  respect  that  was  beautiful. 
I  had  not  quite  defined  it  until  my  attention 
was  called  to  it  by  the  Jew. 

"That's  the  vay  ve  do  it,"  he  said  briefly, 
in  an  undertone,  with  a  nod  of  his  curly 
head  over  toward  the  chair  when  Mrs.  Gar- 
nett  was  leaning  over  her  husband,  arrang 
ing  his  breakfast.  "  But  ve  do  not  sit  down, 
sit  down,  sit  down,  and  read  papers  all  the 
time  because  ve  are  old.  Because  it  is  our 
law.  That's  the  reason  ve  get  along — 
always." 

As  harsh  as  it  was,  we  had  all  about  agreed 
with  the  characterization  of  the  old  fellow  as 
"a  dead  one,"  and  even  Mack's  defence  of 
him  had  not  done  more  than  mitigate  the 
contempt  of  youth  in  its  arrogant  energy 
for  one  who  had  so  completely  passed. 

"He's  dead,  and  don't  know  it,"  said 
Jake  with  light  disdain. 

66 


She  treated  him  as  an  indulgent  mother  treats  a  feeble  child 


THE  OLD   PLANTERS' 

But  he  was  not  quite  dead. 

We  had  left  the  table  one  evening  and  as 
sembled  in  the  hall,  leaving  the  old  man  doz 
ing  in  his  chair  without  the  energy  to  leave 
it.  Just  then  there  was  a  stir  outside. 
Some  one  hurried  by  through  the  quiet  even 
ing,  then  another,  then  the  sound  of  voices 
speaking  hurriedly,  then  men  ran  by. 
Something  unusual  was  taking  place.  We 
felt  it.  A  change  had  occurred.  A  youth 
hastily  entered. 

"Don't  you  fellows  want  to  go  down 
town?  There's  the  devil  to  pay.  They 
say  a  nigger  has  shot  a  man,  and  they  are 
going  to  string  him  up." 

"A  lynching?  Come  on!  Let's  see  what's 
up!"  And  there  was  a  scurrying  for  hats 
and  a  rush  down  the  walk.  In  two  minutes 
we  were  on  the  outskirts  of  a  crowd,  already 
dense  and  rapidly  growing,  in  a  narrow  side- 
street  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town.  Push 
ing  in,  we  found  the  crowd  at  a  standstill, 
peering  down  a  dark  alley,  at  the  end  of 
which  was  a  small  house  in  which  the  fugi 
tive  was  said  to  have  taken  refuge.  He  was 

67 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

said  to  be  a  desperado  and  was  armed  with 
a  pistol,  and  some  said  with  a  Winchester 
rifle.  He  had  shot  a  man  in  a  drunken  rage, 
and  when  an  attempt  was  made  to  arrest 
him,  had  shot  and  wounded  the  constable, 
and  now  he  had  barricaded  himself  in  this 
house,  swearing  to  kill  any  one  who 
attempted  to  take  him.  The  constable,  a 
stout,  roundfaced  fellow,  with  one  arm  in  a 
sling  and  a  large  pistol  in  his  other  hand,  was 
calling  for  a  posse  to  help  secure  the  despe 
rado;  but  while  many  were  eager  to  assist 
him,  none  was  willing  to  lead  in  an  assault 
down  that  narrow  alley.  To  do  so,  they  all 
agreed,  would  be  simply  foolhardy.  It  was 
a  sheer  death-trap.  All  sorts  of  plans  were 
being  suggested  to  get  at  him.  They  might 
set  the  fence  along  the  alley  on  fire  and  burn 
the  desperado  out,  or  they  might  fire  the 
adjoining  shanty.  The  mere  suggestion 
seemed  to  have  lighted  the  brands,  so 
quickly  did  men  appear  with  flaming 
torches.  The  sight  set  the  crowd  wild. 
They  suddenly  changed  to  a  mob,  and 
clamored  for  fire.  Just  then  there  was  a 

68 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

stir  which  ran  counter  to  the  mob's  fury: 
the  colonel  made  his  way  quietly  to  the 
front  of  the  crowd,  and  I  heard  him  ask 
ing  the  name  of  the  criminal.  Some  one 
gave  it — Joe  Daniel. 

"Joe  Daniel!  What  Joe  Daniel?  Not 
old  Julius's  son?" 

"Yes,  sir,  he's  the  one." 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"Killed  a  man." 

"Killed  a  man!  Whom?  How  did  he 
come  to  do  it?" 

The  story  was  gone  over  with  additional 
details  of  horror.  The  old  gentleman  made 
a  clucking  sound  with  his  tongue,  expres 
sive  of  sorrow.  "Tcht!  tcht!  tcht!"  He 
caught  sight  of  the  constable,  and  ap 
proached  him  with  the  same  question.  The 
constable  explained  briefly.  He  had  not 
killed  any  one — had  only  shot  at  a  man, 
wounding  him,  and  when  he  went  to  arrest 
him,  he  had  shot  him,  and  then  had  run  into 
this  house  and  sworn  to  kill  any  one  who 
tried  to  take  him.  "And  I'm  going  to  get 
him,  if  I  die  for  it,"  added  the  officer.  "  I'm 

69 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

going  to  show  him  no  damned  nigger  can 
run  this  town." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  the  colonel,  mildly, 
and  again  he  made  the  clucking  sound  with 
his  tongue. 

"I'm  just  plannin'  now  to  get  him  out. 
I  don't  want  him  to  kill  nobody." 

"I  will  get  him,"  said  the  colonel.  "You 
wait  here."  As  he  turned  toward  the  alley 
the  officer  caught  him. 

"You  mustn't  go  down  there,  colonel. 
He'll  kill  you,  sure." 

"Oh,  no,  he  won't.  He  knows  better 
than  to  try  any  insolence  on  me." 

"  But,  colonel,  you  really  mustn't.  You — 
if  you  go,  I'll  go,  too."  But  the  old  man  had 
gone.  Straight  down  the  alley  in  the  dusk  he 
marched.  The  next  instant  a  blaze  flashed 
from  a  window,  a  loud  report  came,  and  a 
bullet  crashed  through  the  wall  of  a  house 
hard  by,  which  made  the  crowd  scatter  and 
seek  shelter  behind  the  corners.  We  heard 
the  colonel  shout.  Another  shot  followed, 
and  another  in  fierce  succession;  but  a  mo 
ment  later  we  heard  the  old  fellow  banging 

70 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

on  the  door — rap-rap-rap — with  his  cane, 
and  caught  his  voice  in  a  tone  of  command: 
"Open  the  door  instantly."  This  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  colloquy  the  tenor  of  which  we 
could  not  hear. 

The  act  had  struck  the  crowd  with  amaze 
ment,  and  the  colonel  was  for  the  moment 
the  master  of  the  mob.  They  discussed 
him  freely,  and  debated  the  chance  of  his 
bringing  the  negro  out. 

"He's  a  wonder,  anyhow,  that  old  man." 

"Who'd  'a'  thought  he'd  still  have  the 
grit  to  do  that!" 

"Grit!  Did  you  ever  hear  about  the 
time  at  Malvern  Hill  he  went  right  up  to  the 
gun  and  caught  the  rammer?" 

"I  heard  about  him  at  Gettysburg,  when 
he  got  shot  through,  and  told  some  one  to 
give  him  his  arm  to  help  him  over  the  fence,, 
so  he  could  go  up  and  take  the  hill." 

"If  they  hadn't  shot  him,  he'd  'a'  taken 
it  too." 

But  the  next  minute  the  door  opened, 
and  we  heard  the  old  man's  voice  berating 
some  one.  A  few  minutes  later  two  dark 

71 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

objects  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  alley, 
and,  as  they  drew  near,  the  colonel's  voice 
once  more  was  heard,  "Mr.  Constable,  dis 
perse  that  crowd,  and  come  forward  and  re 
ceive  your  prisoner."  I  scarcely  knew  the 
voice,  it  had  changed  so.  It  had  in  it  an 
unexpected  ring.  As  the  officer  advanced, 
there  was  a  sort  of  roar  from  the  crowd,  and 
they  made  a  sudden  rush,  which  swept  over 
him.  It  came,  however,  to  an  even  more 
sudden  stop.  There  was  the  gleam  of 
something  in  the  hand  of  the  figure  in  the 
alley,  as  the  torchlight  flashed  on  it,  and  a 
warning,  sharp  and  high-pitched:  "Stand 
back,  every  one  of  you!  Til  shoot  the  first 
man  that  comes  forward.  I  have  given  the 
prisoner  my  word  that  he  shall  be  protected 
and  receive  a  fair  trial,  and  he  shall  have  it." 

The  crowd  stopped,  and  the  voice  could  be 
distinctly  heard.  "Come  on,  Joe!  Stand 
back,  there,  all  of  you!" 

I  never  quite  knew  why  it  was,  but  that 
mob  fell  back  and  opened  out;  and,  looking 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  the  old  man  walked 
on  through  it,  with  the  negro,  sobered  now 

72 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

through  fear,  pressing  close  behind  his 
shoulder,  the  officer  walking  at  his  side. 
Possibly  one  explanation  was  contained  in  a 
short  phrase  I  caught  from  a  bystander, 
answering  a  friend:  "You  know,  if  he  said 
he'd  do  it,  he  would."  However  this  was, 
Joe  was  locked  in  the  jail  that  night,  and  the 
colonel  came  home  with  a  more  erect  mien 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him  wear,  and  had  a 
long  colloquy  with  old  Julius,  who  looked 
the  picture  of  woe. 

Next  morning  he  was  much  as  he  had  ever 
been,  dull  and  indifferent,  garrulous  about 
events  before  the  war,  querulous  about  the 
negroes,  whom  he  declared  to  have  been 
utterly  ruined  by  freedom.  For  Joe,  the 
prisoner,  he  appeared  to  have  only  a  feeling 
of  mild  contempt.  "A  very  good  boy,  sir. 
He  would  have  been  one  of  my  negroes" — 
Joe  had  been  born  several  years  after  the 
war  —  "Utterly  ruined.  All  he  needed,  sir, 
was  a  master.  A  good  whipping  would 
have  spared  him  the  penitentiary,  and  the 
State  all  the  expense  of  his  trial.  Freedom, 
sir,  has  still  many  crimes  perpetrated  in  its 


name.53 


73 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

I  never  saw  old  Julius  so  attentive  to  the 
old  fellow.  Always  respectful,  he  now  hung 
about  him  all  the  time  in  a  sort  of  dumb 
dependence. 

Joe  was  duly  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for 
a  considerable  term,  and  the  only  persons 
who  thought  the  sentence  excessive  were  the 
family  at  the  Planters'  and  possibly  the 
clear-eyed  young  lawyer  who  defended  him, 
whose  opinion  might  have  been  taken  with 
some  allowance,  as  he  was  in  regular  con 
ference  every  evening  with  the  young  lady 
whom  Joe's  father  always  referred  to  as 
"My  young  mistis,"  and  Joe's  mother  al 
ways  spoke  of  as  "My  chile." 

The  trial  came  off  at  the  fall  term  of  the 
court,  the  colonel  sitting  in  a  chair  close 
behind  the  prisoner  all  through  the  tri^l, 
and  talking  about  him  at  home  in  the  even 
ing  quite  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  family,  the 
burden  of  his  lament  being  the  negroes' 
need  of  a  master.  And  soon  afterward 
came  off  an  event  which  blessed  one  lover's 
heart,  even  if  it  desolated  many  more.  Cal- 
vert,  the  young  lawyer,  whose  efforts  in  be- 

74 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

half  of  old  Julius's  son  had  proved  so  futile, 
was  more  successful  in  his  pleading  in  a 
tenderer  court.  None  of  us  were  in  Lib 
erty,  but  little  Mack  sent  a  large  writing- 
desk  finished  in  old-gold  plush  as  his  final 
tribute. 


IX 

WHEN  I  returned  to  Liberty  that  autumn, 
I  found  the  Planters'  for  some  reason  duller 
than  I  had  ever  remembered  it;  and  this 
was,  as  I  learned,  the  general  feeling  of  the 
set  of  drummers  whom  I  had  met  on  my 
first  visit.  Both  Marion  and  Mack  de 
clared  that  they  should  seek  new  routes. 
"Business  was  growing  dull.  Too  much 
competition  was  ruining  the  country." 

"Especially  in  young  lawyers,"  inter 
jected  Jake,  to  which  the  others  vouchsafed 
no  reply.  It  came  to  me  quite  clearly  that 
little  Jake  had  hit  the  mark.  The  table  was 
much  worse  than  ever,  the  colonel  much 
dimmer.  Only  "ol'  miss"  and  Julius  were 
the  same. 

75 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

At  the  table  one  morning,  Henchman, 
who  had  just  arrived,  mentioned  to  Mack 
that  he  had  run  across  his  friend  Tompkins 
a  little  farther  south,  making  his  way  slowly 
northward. 

"How  is  he  getting  on?"  asked  "ol* 
miss,"  catching  the  name. 

"Still  complaining,"  said  Henchman. 
"He  had  been  sick  and  had  a  bad  season." 

"Too  much  competition?"  interjected 
Jake. 

Remembering  Tompkins,  I  was  prepared 
to  hear  the  subject  dropped.  But  Mrs. 
Garnett  went  on:  "Oh,  poor  fellow!  We 
must  get  him  here  and  take  care  of  him. 
Do  you  know  his  address?"  Henchman 
gave  the  name  of  a  town  a  little  farther 
south,  and  the  hotel  at  which  he  got  his 
mail. 

Next  evening  Tompkins  turned  up,  pale 
and  haggard.  He  had  received  a  telegram 
inviting  him  to  come  and  rest.  He  was 
manifestly  an  ill  man,  suffering  from  a  rag 
ing  headache  and  fever.  Next  morning  he 
had  broken  out,  and  was  so  ill  that  a  doctor 

76 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

was  called  in.  In  ten  minutes  the  whole 
house  was  astir.  A  whispered  consultation 
took  place  between  the  doctor  and  Mrs. 
Garnett,  and  then  Mrs.  Garnett  notified 
the  young  men  that  they  had  better  leave — 
possibly  it  might  be  small-pox.  No  second 
suggestion  was  necessary.  Within  fifteen 
minutes  every  room  in  the  house  was  empty 
except  those  occupied  by  the  family  and 
the  large  chamber  in  which  Tompkins  had 
been  put. 

Small-pox  it  was. 

As  we  were  leaving,  some  one  of  us  said 
to  Mrs.  Garnett,  "You  will  put  him  in  the 
hospital,  of  course?" 

"No.  There  is  no  hospital  in  Liberty; 
but  if  there  were,  we  could  not  turn  the  poor 
boy  out.  We  must  do  the  best  we  can  with 
him  here."  The  old  colonel,  who,  ever 
since  the  announcement  came,  had  been  fol 
lowing  his  wife  about  with  mingled  appre 
hension  and  wonder  on  his  vague  face,  asked 
what  she  had  said.  She  repeated  it. 

"Hospital!  Of  course  not!  Who  ever 
heard  of  turning  a  sick  man  out  of  the  house ! 

77 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

I  shall  nurse  this  fellow  here,  and  hope  not 
to  get  it." 

"Turn  him  out!  Nor,  suh,  dat  we  ain't! 
We  don'  turn  nobody  out  o'  our  house,  sick 
or  well,"  said  a  voice,  as  old  Julius  lined  up 
behind  him. 

When  we  were  safe  in  the  car,  with  every 
window  open,  Mack  said:  "Lord!  Lord! 
Were  there  ever  such  impracticable  folks  on 
earth!"  There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then 
the  traveller  for  yarns  burst  out:  "I  take 
back  every  darned  word  I  ever  said  against 
'em !  I  want  you  fellows  to  remember  that, 
and  I've  said  many  a  one.  They  may  have 
what  they  please  on  their  table,  or  nothin' 
at  all,  if  they  choose;  I  know  they'd  give  it 
to  us  if  they  had  it,  and  I  can  go  elsewhere 
and  get  something  to  eat:  but  I  won't  get 
that  anywhere  else."  He  gave  a  jerk  of  his 
head  toward  the  rear  of  the  train.  "And 
when  I  get  sick,  that's  where  I  want  to  go." 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  The 
stingiest  man  in  the  lot,  the  one  whose  name 
was  used  as  a  by-word  by  his  friends,  spoke 
up.  "Fellows,  we've  got  to  do  something 

78 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

for  'em.  We've  got  to  keep  'em  goin'.  I'm 
good  for  ten.  What  do  you  fellows  say?" 
"Well,  Waxy  can't  beat  me,"  said  one 
after  the  other,  and  soon  the  crowd  was 
making  up  a  snug  little  sum  to  send  back 
—"to  help  Tompkins." 


X 

I  DID  not  get  back  to  Liberty  for  some 
years  after  this;  but  falling  in  on  a  train 
with  little  Mack  one  day,  I  asked  after  our 
friends  there. 

"All  gone,"  he  said  briefly. 

"The  old  colonel?     Dead?" 

He  nodded  his  head.  "Him  and  old 
Julius  both — that  Tompkins!"  he  added 
briefly.  "You  remember  the  time  he  ar 
rested  that  drunken  nigger  who  had  stood 
off  the  town?" 

"I  remember." 

"Gee!  That  was  a  nervy  thing.  I 
wouldn't  have  gone  down  that  alley  that 
night  to  be  a  partner  in  my  firm,  and  that 
old  fellow  went  down  by  himself  and  made 
that  nigger  come  out.  You  remember?" 

79 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"I  remember." 

The  drummer  paused  in  reflection.  "  How 
did  he  do  it?" 

"Courage." 

"Yes,  of  course.  But  there  were  plenty 
of  others  there  who  had  courage,  too;  but 
he  made  him  do  it.  Seems  like  he  knew 
how  to  do  it.  Didn't  calculate.  Just  did 
it — out  of — out  of — just  damned  so.  I 
never  used  to  believe  all  those  things  he 
used  to  tell  about  what  they  did  during  the 
war.  Used  to  think  he  was  just  lyin'. 
You  remember  how  we  used  to  sit  around 
and  josh  him?" 

"I  remember." 

The  drummer  gave  a  nod  of  conviction. 
"Well,  he  done  'em.  You  bet  if  he  ever 
said  he  done  'em,  he  done  'em.  One  thing 
he  didn't  do  was  to  lie."  He  turned  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  I  agreed  to  this 
heartily;  but  my  companion  was  not  think 
ing  of  me.  He  was  back  at  the  old  Plant 
ers'. 

"  Lord !  If  that  old  man  had  been  trained 
in  Wall  Street,  what  wouldn't  he  have  been! 
Why,  he'd  have  had  a  cinch.  His  nerve! 

80 


THE  OLD  PLANTERS' 

Shot  through  twict,  and  goes  down  there  in 
the  dark  with  a  drunken  nigger  pumpin' 
lead  at  him,  and  made  him  give  up  his  gun 
when  he  didn't  have  energy  enough  hardly 
to  pick  up  his  newspaper  when  it  fell  off  his 
lap  on  the  floor!" 

"And  'OF  miss'?— the  Planters'?  Who 
owns  it  now?" 

"  Burned  down.  No  insurance,  of  course/' 
he  said  complainingly.  "And  you  ought  to 
see  what  they've  got  there  now  for  a  hotel! 
Worse  than  the  Planters'  at  its  worst,  and 
no  CO1'  miss'  to  make  it  go  down.  Some  of 
us  fellows — and  Tompkins — talked  about 
settin'  her  up — stakin'  her;  but  she  said  no, 
she  was  too  old,  and  she  was  all  broke' 
up.  She  went  to  her  daughter.  'Twas  just 
as  well  we  didn't  try." 

"Where  is  she  now?"  I  inquired. 

"Dead— All  gone!" 

He  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  presently  took  up  a  paper  as  if  to  read. 
But  I  observed  that  he  was  not  reading. 


81 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

IT  was  in  the  twenty-seventh  year  of  the 
reign  of  Augustus  Caesar  or,  as  some  say,  in 
quite  another  year — in  what  was  known 
simply  as  the  tenth  month,  or,  by  another 
account,  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighth 
month. 

Toward  the  even-tide  of  a  calm  day, 
two  travellers  of  the  peasant  class,  a  man 
and  a  young  woman — the  latter  riding  an 
ass,  beside  which  the  man  walked — toiled 
slowly  up  the  rough  highway  that  climbed 
the  rocky  hills  a  little  to  the  southward  of 
the  ancient  capital  of  Judaea  where  Herod 
now  reigned.  The  top  of  the  pass  in  the 
range  toward  which  their  faces  were  set  was 
crowned  with  a  small  town,  whose  walls, 
lifted  above  the  straggling  olive  trees, 
gleamed  white  and  pink  in  the  light  of  the 
declining  sun.  The  wayfarers  had  jour 
neyed  all  day,  and  the  woman  was  faint 
with  fatigue.  At  length  she  spoke  to  the 

82 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

man.  He  bowed  his  head  and,  as  they 
reached  a  convenient  point,  turned  out  of 
the  rough  and  dusty  highway,  and  at  a  little 
distance  came  to  a  halt  in  a  sloping,  bare 
field  to  one  side,  in  which,  on  an  outjut  of 
rock,  stood  an  old  and  rude  tower,  lifted 
above  the  folds  along  a  ledge  of  the  hill — 
the  tower  of  Eder.  On  the  lower  hills  be 
yond  the  far  edge  of  the  field  some  shep 
herds  were  minding  their  flocks  as  they 
grazed  their  way  slowly  homeward  along 
the  sides  of  the  rocky  ravines  which  seamed 
the  range. 

Moving  far  enough  into  the  field  to  be 
beyond  the  dust  and  noise  of  the  highway, 
and,  if  necessary,  to  seek  refuge  in  the 
tower,  the  man  helped  the  woman  to  dis 
mount  with  more  gentleness  than  was  usu 
ally  shown  by  people  of  their  class.  Be 
hind  them  streamed  the  mingled  traffic  of 
a  road  that  led  to  a  great  city.  Men  on 
foot  or  mounted  on  asses  or  camels  passed 
along;  truckers  with  loads  of  produce 
packed  in  immense  panniers  on  their  beasts 
or  bearing  on  their  heads  bundles  so  huge 

83 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

that  it  was  a  wonder  they  were  not  crushed 
beneath  them;  drovers  with  herds  of  dusty 
cattle  or  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats  on  the 
way  to  market;  travellers  of  a  better  de 
gree,  with  servants  and  attendants  follow 
ing  their  horses  or  chariots;  long  lines  of 
camels  swinging  slowly  by  in  single  file  like 
great  flocks  of  gigantic  four-legged  birds, 
the  dust  spurting  in  clouds  at  every  step 
from  their  lagging  feet.  And  now  and  then 
a  body  of  soldiers  swung  clanking  by,  taking 
the  best  part  of  the  road  and  with  imperious 
voices  ordering  every  one  out  of  their  way. 
The  man  in  the  field  was  already  past 
middle  age  and,  though  of  the  peasant  class, 
his  face  was  strong  and  his  features  good, 
like  so  many  of  his  race.  The  woman,  young 
enough  to  be  his  daughter,  might  have  been 
taken  for  his  wife,  save  for  a  certain  distance 
in  his  manner  toward  her.  A  young  Roman 
noble  who  passed  them  that  day,  on  his 
way  to  Herod's  court,  observing  them,  and 
noting,  with  an  eye  for  beauty,  the  delicate 
features  of  the  young  woman,  disclosed  by 
her  veil's  slipping  for  a  moment,  concluded 

84 


Behind  them  streamed  the  mingled  traffic  of  a  road  that  led 
to  a  great  city 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

that  the  woman  was  some  Jewish  girl  of 
station,  and  that  her  attendant  was  her 
father's  steward  escorting  her  home.  She 
was,  indeed,  treated  by  her  companion  with 
a  distinction  approaching  reverence.  Hav 
ing  helped  her  down,  he  spoke  softly  and 
spread  his  robe  on  the  ground  for  her  to  sit 
upon. 

From  a  little  distance  floated  upward  the 
bleating  of  sheep,  and  presently  the  flocks 
began  to  appear,  winding  up  from  the  lower 
slopes,  led  by  their  shepherds  toward  the 
folds  built  on  the  sides  of  the  rocky  hills. 
To  the  woman's  sigh  of  fatigue  the  man 
replied  soothingly  that  they  would  soon  be 
at  their  journey's  end — at  Bethlehem. 

"Little  Bethlehem!"  murmured  the  young 
woman. 

"'And  thou  Bethlehem,  in  the  land  of 
Juda,  art  not  the  least  among  the  princes 
of  Juda,'"  quoted  the  man.  "'For  out  of 
thee  shall  come  a  governor  that  shall  rule 
my  people  Israel/  But  thou  art  faint. 
The  bottle  is  dry.  The  child  that  cried  to 
us  for  water  took  the  last  drop.  I  will  try 

85 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

to  get  thee  some.  The  shepherds  yonder 
will  have  it."  She  hinted  something  of  her 
fear  for  him  if  he  went  among  strange  men ; 
for  the  road  from  Jericho,  which  they  had 
lately  crossed,  was  infested  with  robbers — 
and  the  shepherds  were  a  wild  and  reckless 
class.  He  reassured  her  and  left  her.  Bear 
ing  the  leathern  bottle  in  his  hand,  he 
crossed  the  field  and  went  over  to  one  of  the 
sheepfolds  near  by,  where  he  talked  to  one 
of  the  shepherds,  an  elderly  man,  bearded 
to  the  eyes.  When  he  returned  a  little 
later,  he  bore  in  his  hand  a  bottle  of  milk 
and  a  piece  of  the  coarse  bread  that  the 
shepherds  eat.  Not  long  afterward  the 
shepherds  themselves  came  over,  one  after 
one;  plain;  bearded;  beaten  by  the  weather; 
tanned  by  the  sun;  men  of  the  field,  with 
their  stout  staves,  their  sheep-skin  coats 
and  goat-skin  leggings,  and  their  bags,  or 
scrips,  hung  over  their  shoulders.  At  their 
approach  the  young  woman,  who  was  soon 
to  be  a  mother,  shyly  drew  about  her  her 
veil,  which  was  ample  enough  to  cover  her 
from  head  to  foot.  The  man  as  quietly 

86 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

moved  forward  and,  interposing  between 
her  and  the  strangers,  greeted  the  leader. 
But  they  were  friendly.  They  wanted  to 
talk. 

"Thou  art  from  Galilee?'*  queried  the 
shepherd  in  the  lead,  a  rough,  grizzled  man 
with  eyes  that  burned  deep  under  his 
shaggy  brows.  "Thy  speech  is  Galilean?" 

The  other  man  bowed. 

"Of  Nazareth." 

"Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Naz 
areth!"  jeered  a  voice  from  the  rear. 

"As  good  as  from  Kerioth,"  answered  an 
other,  at  which  his  companions  laughed. 
The  speaker  turned  to  the  traveller. 

"Thy  name  is — what?" 

"Joseph,  son  of  Jacob." 

"Thou  knowest  my  uncle,  Zebedee,  the 
fisherman?  He  hath  a  fine  son— 

"I  know  him  and  his  son  James,  and 
young  Simon  of  the  Rock  who  fishes  with 
him." 

"I  know  him  not,"  said  the  shepherd; 
"but  Zebedee  is  my  mother's  brother,  and 
Judas  the  Zealot— 

"His  wife  is  half-sister  to  her,"  said  the 
87 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

traveller,  with  a  movement  of  the  head  to 
ward  the  young  woman. 

The  connection  made  an  impression  on 
all  around  and  the  men  drew  closer  to 
gether. 

"Dost  thou  know  Judas  the  Zealot?" 
Joseph  bowed. 

"Hast  thou  seen  him  lately?" 

"  But  the  other  day  he  came  up  from  the 
sea  to  my  shop  to  get  a  sheath  put  to  his 
fish-knife/' 

"I  know  that  knife,"  said  the  shepherd, 
glancing  around  at  his  companions  with 
pride.  "He  had  it  of  one  of  the  Sicarians. 
The  Romans  did  not  get  it." 

The  other  shepherds  laughed  hoarsely. 

"It  hath  done  other  work  in  its  time," 
continued  the  shepherd.  "I  heard  my  uncle 
tell  of  it.  When  Judas's  father  was  slain, 
one  of  his  captains  flung  himself  over  the 
cliff,  and  my  uncle  found  the  sword  later  at 
the  foot  of  the  cliff  when  he  was  drying  his 
net." 

"When  didst  thou  see  him  last?"  asked 
Joseph,  as  if  to  change  the  subject. 

"He  came  to  the  Passover  and  sought  me 
88 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

out.  He  wanted  me  to  go  and  be  a  fisher 
man,  but  I  told  him  that  I  knew  the  hills 
better  than  the  water  and  I  would  stay  here. 
Dost  thou  look  for  the  coming  one  ? " 

Joseph  bowed. 

"Whither  goest  thou?"  asked  the  shep 
herd.  "Jerusalem  is  behind  thee." 

"To  Bethlehem,  to  meet  the  tax,  and  be 
enrolled." 

"Ah!  The  tax!  The  tax!  It  is  always 
the  tax,"  exclaimed  the  shepherd,  while  the 
others  growled  their  assent.  "Why  should 
they  enroll  us !  To  slay  us  ?  Did  not  King 
David  try  it!  And  how  many  men  did  it 
cost!  Would  that  we  had  more  like  Judas! 
Art  thou  of  Bethlehem?"  he  added. 

''Yea,  of  the  tribe  and  lineage  of  David. 
Both  of  us."  He  glanced  around  to  where 
the  young  woman  sat. 

The  speech  evidently  made  a  further  im 
pression  on  the  shepherds. 

"Would  that  we  had  another  David! 
That  would  be  better  yet!" 

"Aye,  aye!"  echoed  the  others.  "And 
he  was  a  shepherd!  He  would  see  us 

89 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

righted  and  not  let  them  carry  us  off  to 
the  war  and  leave  our  sheep  without  a 
shepherd." 

"But  there  is  no  war,  now,  nor  rumor 
of  war,"  said  Joseph,  "and  the  ploughshare 
is  better  than  the  sword  and  the  pruning- 
hook  than  the  spear." 

"Dost  thou  know  Joachim?"  asked  the 
shepherd  suddenly. 

"Yea,"  said  Joseph;  "well." 

"He  was  once  a  shepherd  here,  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  ago." 

Joseph  listened  with  interest. 

"It  was  when  the  high-priest  drove  him 
from  the  altar  because  his  wife  was  barren. 
He  came  here  and  lived  with  me.  And  'tis 
said  his  wife  knew  not  where  he  was  and 
feared  him  dead.  And  he  prayed  always, 
always,  and  one  night  a  vision  came  to  him. 
An  angel  said  to  him:  'Was  not  Sara  long 
barren?  And  Rachel?  And  yet  she  bore 
Joseph  who  was  lord  of  Egypt — stronger 
than  Samson  and  holier  than  Samuel.'  And 
he  bade  him  leave  and  go  to  Jerusalem  and 
enter  by  the  Golden  Gate.  And  I  have 

90 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

heard  that  his  wife  met  him  there  and  that 
she  bore  him  a  daughter?" 

"It  is  true,"  said  Joseph;  "she  is  there." 

The  shepherd  stopped  and  gazed  long 
and  curiously  at  the  figure  on  the  ground. 

"So!"  he  murmured.  "Zebedee  said 
there  was  talk  of  strange  things  at  Naza 
reth;  he  said  that  word  had  come  that 
again  a  barren  woman  had  borne  a  child — 
a  woman  as  old  as  our  mother  Sara,  and 
that  her  husband  had  seen  a  vision — his 
name  was  Zachariah,  was  it  not?  Hast 
thou  heard  of  it?"  His  voice  sank  and  his 
eyes  sought  the  traveller's  eyes.  The  other 
shepherds  listened  intently. 

The  young  woman  on  the  ground  drew 
her  veil  yet  closer  about  her.  It  was  as  if  a 
white  morning-glory  had  withdrawn  within 
itself  at  the  approach  of  evening. 

"I  have  heard  so,"  said  Joseph  briefly. 

"Can  it  be  that  the  time  draws  nigh?" 
asked  the  old  shepherd  tremblingly. 

"Who  knoweth  the  times  and  the  sea 
sons?"  replied  the  other,  as  if  to  avoid  the 
gaze  fixed  upon  him. 

91 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"But  it  is  said  that  a  virgin  must  bear  a 
child,  and  he  shall  be  called  Emmanuel. 
Can  it  be  ?  Does  it  mean  that  we  are  never 
to  see  the  rising  again  of  Israel?" 

"Is  the  Lord's  arm  shortened  that  it  can 
not  save?"  replied  Joseph  quietly.  "Or  is 
his  ear  dulled  that  he  cannot  hear?'*  He 
turned  to  where  the  young  woman  sat  on 
the  ground. 

"But  I  grow  old,"  said  the  shepherd. 
"I  had  a  son  once,  but  the  Romans — " 
He  broke  off.  "We  have  scores  to  settle." 

"Aye,  that  we  have,"  came  in  chorus 
from  the  others. 

"Wait  on  the  Lord,"  said  Joseph.  The 
young  woman  rose  from  the  ground  and 
Joseph  lifted  her  gently  to  her  saddle. 

"Have  a  care  of  thy  wife,"  said  the  shep 
herd.  "  She  is  young  and  the  soldiers 

"I  have  no  fear,"  said  Joseph  calmly. 

"They  fear  not  God,  nor  regard  man. 
To  them  an  Israelite  is  a  dog." 

"We  have  no  fear,"  said  Joseph  firmly. 

"The  place  will  be  full.  There  is  but 
one  inn,  and  it  will  be  crowded.  They  have 

92 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

been  passing  since  sunrise.  Clouds  of  dust 
on  the  road  all  day.  We  could  see  it  from 
the  hills/' 

The  others  assented. 

"God  will  provide  for  us,"  said  Joseph, 
as,  bidding  the  shepherd  adieu,  he  turned 
the  ass's  head  toward  the  road. 

The  shepherds  stood  and  watched  them 
as  they  moved  slowly  upward  until  they 
were  lost  in  the  shadows  on  the  highway, 
and  then  turned  back  to  their  flocks.  What 
they  said,  it  was,  perhaps,  well  that  no 
soldiers  were  near  to  hear;  for  the  older 
man's  words  had  stirred  them  deeply,  and 
prophecy  after  prophecy  was  recounted 
pointing  to  the  overthrow  of  Roman  power. 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  travellers  plod 
ded  onward  up  the  mountain.  The  village 
on  its  shoulder  above  them  turned  pink, 
then  white  as  alabaster ;  and  then  the  white 
faded  to  an  icy  blue ;  once  more  flushed  to  a 
saffron  hue,  and  gradually  died  until  by  the 
time  the  travellers  reached  the  nearest 
houses  down  the  slope  all  was  dusk,  and 
with  the  darkness  had  come  the  cold. 

93 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

Once  they  paused  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  and 
rested  while  they  gazed  across  the  dark 
valley  to  the  eastward  to  where  some  miles 
away  gleamed  many  lights.  "There  it  is," 
said  Joseph.  "There  is  Jerusalem.  The 
Temple." 

"I  have  had  many  happy  hours  there," 
said  his  companion  softly.  As  they  moved 
on,  between  them  and  the  sky,  on  a  hill  be 
side  the  road,  a  cross  lifted  itself.  "Look 
the  other  way,"  said  Joseph  quickly;  but 
he  was  too  late.  The  young  woman  shud 
dered  and  bowed  her  head  low.  "Some 
robber,  perhaps,  but  he  is  dead,"  explained 
Joseph.  The  young  woman's  only  answer 
was  a  moan. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  village  itself, 
they  found  what  the  shepherds  had  said  to 
be  true.  The  village  was  quite  full  and  the 
only  inn  there  had  no  place  for  them. 

When  they  reached  the  gate-way  of  the 
entrance  court,  travellers  were  being  turned 
away,  and  a  number  of  them  were  consult 
ing  together  as  to  whether  they  should  re 
main  in  the  street  all  night  or  should  go 

94 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

back  toward  Jerusalem.  The  gates  would 
be  shut;  but  they  might  find  a  lodging-place 
in  some  other  village. 

It  was  dark,  for  the  moon,  though  nearly 
full,  had  not  yet  risen  above  the  hills,  and 
it  was  too  late  to  seek  shelter  elsewhere. 
Joseph  went  boldly  to  the  gate  and  knocked. 
For  some  time  there  was  no  answer;  but  he 
continued  to  knock.  Jeers  broke  out  from 
the  group  in  the  street  behind  him;  but 
he  paid  no  heed.  He  kept  on  knocking. 
After  a  while  the  bar  was  drawn  on  the  in 
side,  and  the  porter  partly  opened  the  gate. 
When,  however,  he  saw  only  a  plain  man 
with  a  woman  mounted  on  an  ass,  he  spoke 
shortly  and  told  him  that  there  was  no 
room  for  them  in  the  inn.  Joseph  made 
known  his  situation.  His  wife  could  go  no 
farther  and  could  not  remain  in  the  street 
all  night.  This  did  not  avail.  The  porter 
spoke  with  contempt.  "Better  than  you 
have  been  turned  away  to-night." 

"Than  me — Yes,"  said  Joseph;  "but  not 
better  than  that  I  bring."  He  took  from 
his  scrip  an  official  paper  and  added  that 
he  had  come  "under  Caesar's  order." 

95 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"You  trouble  me  much/'  growled  the 
porter.  But  he  admitted  them,  and  told 
Joseph  that  he  might  spend  the  night  in 
the  stable  if  he  could  find  a  place  there. 

"In  the  stable!"  said  Joseph. 

"Yes,  and  you'd  better  be  glad  to  get 
that,"  growled  the  porter.  "The  other 
night  we  had  to  put  up  a  man  that  a  dog 
of  a  Samaritan  had  found  on  the  road  from 
Jericho,  naked  and  half  dead.  He  must 
needs  bring  him  here  and  order  the  best 
room  for  him.  A  priest  and  a  Levite  were 
here  that  night,  and  a  pretty  fuss  they 
made  too — they  wanted  him  put  in  the 
stable;  but  the  Samaritan's  money  was 
good,  so  the  master  took  him  in." 

Joseph  said  that  he  was  glad  to  have  the 
stable,  and,  leading  the  ass  inside  the  gate, 
he  followed  the  direction  of  the  porter. 
He  picked  his  way  carefully  across  the  dim 
and  dirty  court,  amid  the  camels  and  asses 
crowded  therein,  and  crossed  over  to  the 
side  to  which  the  porter  carelessly  waved 
him,  where,  hollowed  in  the  rock,  were  the 
rough  caves  used  as  stables  for  the  inn. 

Here  in  a  stall  which  had,  perhaps,  been 
96 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

kept  vacant  in  the  hope  that  some  guest  of 
quality  might  come  who  would  pay  for  it, 
and  would  bring  honor  to  the  inn,  Joseph 
placed  his  wife,  using  such  means  as  he 
could  to  make  her  comfortable. 

The  inn  itself  was  full  of  life  and  move 
ment;  lights  flared  and  failed  and  flared 
again,  as  busy  servants  bustled  about  at 
tending  to  the  wants  of  the  numerous  guests 
who  ate  and  drank,  sang,  danced,  and  slept 
as  they  listed. 

Across  the  court,  where  the  camels  and 
other  cattle  ruminated  or  slumbered,  all  was 
dark  and  still — as  dark  and  still  as  it  must 
have  been  when  darkness  was  upon  the 
waters  before  the  dawn  of  the  first  creation, 
when  God  said,  "Let  there  be  light/'  and 
there  was  light. 

Far  away,  across  the  sea,  on  her  seven 
hills,  Rome  glittered  with  her  myriad  lights, 
innumerable  as  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  in 
his  imperial  palace  ruled  Augustus  Caesar, 
master  of  the  world,  whose  decree  had 
gone  out  that  all  the  world  should  be  taxed 
— ruled  in  such  splendor  that  the  greatest 

97 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

men  of  their  time  proclaimed  him  a  god — 
ruled  with  such  power  that  a  simple  car 
penter  in  a  little  town  in  a  far-away  province 
across  the  seas  could  not  be  overlooked  and 
left  at  home;  but  must  make  a  long  and 
perilous  journey  with  his  wife  to  be  taxed 
in  the  city  of  his  fathers,  where  he  was  a 
stranger,  and  in  which  when  he  arrived  he 
was  unable  to  get  room  in  the  inn,  and  was 
fain  to  lodge  in  the  inn  stables  among  the 
cattle,  as  little  considered  as  they. 

In  this  journey  none  but  the  lowly  shep 
herds  in  the  fields  had  taken  note  of  them. 
To  them  happened  a  strange  thing  that 
night. 

It  must  have  been  about  midnight.  The 
moon  had  crept  slowly  up  the  sky  and 
flooded  the  hills  with  light.  The  oldest  of 
the  shepherds  was  on  watch,  while  the  others 
slept.  Many  things  revolved  in  his  mind — 
the  promises  to  Abraham  and  to  his  seed 
forever — the  words  of  peace  that  the  trav 
eller  from  Nazareth  had  spoken,  swept 
through  his  memory.  He  began  to  dream. 
And  the  first  thing  that  struck  him  was  the 

98 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

strange  behavior  of  the  sheep  in  the  folds. 
They  rose  from  the  ground  and,  facing  to 
ward  the  mountain,  knelt  as  lambs  kneel  at 
their  mothers'  sides.  But  they  were  all  still 
— as  still  as  if  carved  of  stone.  And  while  he 
wondered,  suddenly  there  stood  near  him — 
so  suddenly  that  it  was  as  if  he  had  dropped 
down  upon  him — a  presence.  He  had  no 
time  to  question — it  was  a  light — a  glory 
unimaginable — brighter  than  the  moon — • 
more  glorious  than  the  sun — like  the  glory 
of  the  Lord.  It  awoke  some  of  the  others. 
It  was  round  about  them,  and  they  were  sore 
afraid.  Then  a  voice  sounded  in  their  ears, 
and  the  angel  said  unto  them:  "Fear  not; 
for  behold  I  bring  you  good  tidings  of  great 
joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  people;  for  unto 
you  is  born  this  day  in  the  city  of  David,  a 
Saviour,  which  is  Christ  the  Lord,  and  this 
shall  be  a  sign  unto  you:  ye  shall  find  the 
babe  wrapped  in  swaddling-clothes,  lying  in 
a  manger." 

Astonished  and  still  terrified — stunned 
beyond  thought — the  shepherds  lay  as  they 
had  been  found — and,  as  they  told  it  af- 

99 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

terward,  suddenly  there  was  with  the  angel 
a  multitude  of  the  heavenly  host,  praising 
God,  and  saying,  "Glory  to  God  in  the 
Highest,  and  on  earth  peace  to  men  of 
good-will."  Then  they  went  away  upward 
— up  into  the  heaven — and  only  the  shep 
herds  were  left  on  the  earth  with  their 
flocks. 

When  the  shepherds  recovered  their  cour 
age  and  looked  up,  the  sky  was  as  usual 
on  clear  and  cloudless  nights,  and  only  the 
moon  was  shining  down,  flooding  the  fields 
with  light.  They  began  to  talk  in  low  tones 
of  what  they  had  seen  and  heard,  and  to 
wonder  what  it  all  meant.  One  of  the 
younger  men  who  had  not  spoken  before 
roused  up  and  complained  that  they  had 
awakened  him.  "Thou  sleptest  soundly, 
then,  thou  of  Kerioth,"  they  said.  But 
Judas  declared  that  they  had  disturbed  a 
dream  he  had.  "I  dreamt  of  silver,"  he 
said;  "a  garden  like  one  I  know  near  Jeru 
salem  and  a  great  treasure  there — a  man 
on  his  knees  and  I  arrested  him — and  gave 
him  up,  and  found  thirty  great  pieces  of 

100 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

silver.  Oh!  I  felt  rich — as  rich  as  that 
Zaccheus  men  talk  of — and  then  you  waked 
me  up;  I  could  hang  myself."  His  com 
panions,  however,  paid  little  attention  to 
him.  They  were  too  wonder-struck — and 
presently  they  began  to  say  one  to  another: 
"Let  us  now  go  even  to  Bethlehem  and  see 
this  thing  which  is  come  to  pass,  which  the 
Lord  hath  made  known  unto  us." 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  ready  to 
start. 

"If  we  are  going,"  said  the  leader,  "we 
might  as  well  take  with  us  some  milk.  We 
may  come  across  our  friends,  Joseph  and  his 
wife,  and  they  will  find  it  hard  to  get  any 
thing  in  that  crowded  place."  He  went  off, 
and  in  a  little  while  came  back  with  a  bottle 
of  milk. 

"What  is  the  use  of  that?"  growled  the 
one  who  had  had  his  dream  disturbed. 
"They  will  have  enough.  Better  save  and 
sell  it,  and  let  me  give  the  money  to  the 
poor." 

"Judas,  thou  art  ever  prating  of  giving, 
yet  givest  naught,"  said  the  man  with  the 
bottle  of  milk.  "Come  with  us." 

101 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"I  am  not  going,"  said  the  man  of  Keri- 
oth.  "I  shall  stay  and  see  that  no  one 
troubles  the  sheep." 

"See  that  thou  trouble  them  not  thyself," 
said  one  of  his  fellows,  at  which  the  others 
laughed. 

"Come  on,"  said  the  leader.  And  they 
set  forth  in  haste,  followed  by  the  gibes  of 
the  one  left  behind. 

Out  in  the  dusty  road  they  filed,  one  be 
hind  the  other,  and  by  the  moonlight  began 
to  ascend  the  winding,  rocky  road  which 
led  up  toward  the  hills  above  them.  Stum 
bling  over  the  rocks  in  the  dusk  with  their 
ill-shod  feet;  passing  the  commonplace  way 
farers  coming  or  going  with  their  asses  or 
on  foot,  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  but  now 
they  had  seen  and  heard  Heavenly  messen 
gers — as  Abraham  and  Jacob  and  Daniel 
had  seen  them. 

"Well,  we  shall  know  when  we  get  there. 
If  the  babe  be  there — we  shall  know,"  said 
the  leader. 

It  was  near  day  when  they  reached  the 
town.  They  came  at  length  to  the  gate  of 
the  inn.  In  the  twilight  of  the  dawn  it 

102 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

was  just  being  opened  by  the  sleepy  and 
gruff  porter  as  they  arrived,  and  he  stood 
in  the  open  gate-way  yawning.  He  heard 
their  inquiry  in  dull  silence. 

He  pondered  a  moment.  "What  is  it  ye 
want?"  he  asked  sullenly. 

"We  want  to  know  if  two  travellers  who 
came  here  late  last  night  found  shelter?" 

"Two  travellers?  Nearer  two  hundred. 
Look  at  the  court-yard.  So  full  that  one 
cannot  walk  across  it.  And  the  house  is 
packed." 

"Two  who  came  late?  A  man  and  a 
young  woman — he  was  much  older  than 
she— she- 

"Oh!  aye.  Two  came  late — too  late— 

"What  became  of  them?" 

"There  was  no  place  for  them  in  the 
inn " 

"And  you  turned  them  away?" 

"Who  said  I  did?  Am  I  a  dog  to  do 
that?" 

"What  became  of  them?" 

The  porter  half  turned. 

"Go  look  in  there."  He  pointed  to- 
103 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

ward  the  stable.  "I  gave  them  shelter  there 
for  the  young  woman — and  none  too  soon. 
There  are  three  of  them  there  now,  I  judge, 
from  what  I  heard  but  now." 

The  shepherds  gave  an  exclamation  and, 
passing  across  the  court-yard  to  the  stable, 
paused  at  the  opening  that  led  into  the 
dusky  recess.  A  woman's  voice,  low  and 
soft,  yet  jubilant,  was  heard.  She  was 
speaking  in  the  tone  of  gladness  of  a  young 
mother: 

"My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord.  And 
my  spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour." 

The  shepherds  approached  softly,  and 
there  in  the  manger,  wrapped  in  swaddling- 
bands,  lay  the  young  child. 

It  was,  then,  not  a  dream.  This  was  the 
sign  unto  them. 

"His  mercy  is  on  them  that  fear  Him, 
from  generation  to  generation,"  crooned  the 
young  mother  as  the  shepherds  drew  near. 
"  He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their 
seats  and  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 

It  was  the  hymn  of  the  poor. 

The  shepherds  entered  softly.  The  morn- 
104 


It  was,  then,  not  a  dream.     This  was  the  sign  unto  them 


THE  STABLE  OF  THE  INN 

ing  light  stole  into  the  recess  and  fell  on  the 
group,  and  the  shepherds  sank  to  their 
knees  to  gaze  on  the  babe  in  wondering 
awe. 

So,  in  the  stable  began  the  first  worship 
of  Him  who  came  to  save  the  world — 
Christ  the  Lord. 

That  day  it  was  noised  abroad  that  won 
ders  had  happened  in  the  city  of  David, 
and  in  the  country  round  about.  It  reached 
the  ears  of  the  authorities,  and  an  investi 
gation  was  made.  In  the  time  of  the  taxing 
all  rumors  were  looked  into.  Theudas  and 
Judas  were  the  proof  of  how  serious  such 
rumors  might  be.  But  this  report  was 
traced  to  a  few  poor  shepherds  who,  re 
turning  to  the  fields  from  a  village,  told  a 
strange  story  of  a  babe  born  in  a  stable 
and  of  angels  appearing  and  preaching 
peace  and  good-will  to  all  men.  No  one 
paid  any  attention  to  them  at  the  time. 
Only  Mary,  the  young  mother,  kept  all 
these  things  and  pondered  them  in  her  heart. 

Caesar  Augustus  in  Rome  was  celebrating 
his  world-wide  peace,  and  Herod  Ascalonita 
105 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

was  too  busy  with  his  dreams  of  power  to 
pay  attention  to  such  talk. 

When,  however,  some  months  later  it  re 
curred  and  some  Eastern  travellers  brought 
it  again  to  his  attention,  with  the  story  of 
an  old  prophecy  from  the  Hebrew  writings, 
referring  to  Bethlehem,  Herod  disposed  of 
the  matter  finally  by  sending  soldiers  and 
slaying  all  the  babes  born  in  the  village 
mentioned  from  two  years  old  and  under, 
including  among  them,  it  is  said,  even  one 
of  his  own  children,  who  was  born  there. 
But  by  this  time,  says  the  sacred  record, 
Joseph,  having  been  warned  by  God  in 
a  dream,  had  taken  the  young  child  and  his 
mother  and  departed  into  Egypt. 


106 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED 
BY  NIGHT 

THE  place  had  nothing  distinguished  or 
even  perhaps  distinctive  about  it  except  its 
trees  and  the  tapering  spire  of  a  church  lift 
ing  above  them.  It  was  not  unlike  a  hun 
dred  other  places  that  one  sees  as  one  trav 
els  through  the  country.  It  called  itself  a 
town  but  it  was  hardly  more  than  a  village. 
One  long  street,  now  paved  on  both  sides, 
climbed  the  hill,  where  the  old  post-road 
used  to  run  in  from  the  country  on  one  side 
and  out  again  on  the  other,  passing  a  dingy, 
large  house  with  whitewashed  pillars,  for 
merly  known  as  the  tavern,  but  now  calling 
itself  "The  Inn."  This,  with  two  or  three 
built-up  cross  streets  and  a  short  street  or 
two  on  either  side  of  the  main  street,  consti 
tuted  "  the  town."  A  number  of  good  houses, 
and  a  few  very  good  indeed,  sat  back  in 
yards  dignified  by  fine  trees.  Three  or  four 
churches  stood  on  corners,  as  far  apart  ap- 
107 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

parently  as  possible.  Several  of  them  were 
much  newer  and  fresher  painted  than  the 
one  with  the  spire  and  cross;  but  this  was 
the  only  old  one  and  was  generally  spoken  of 
as  "  The  Church,"  as  the  rector  was  meant 
when  the  people  spoke  of  "The  Preacher." 
It  sat  back  from  the  street,  and  near  it,  yet 
more  retired,  was  an  old  dwelling,  also  di 
lapidated,  with  a  wide  porch,  much  decayed, 
and  an  out-building  or  two  to  the  side  and 
a  little  behind  it,  one  of  which  was  also  oc 
cupied  as  a  dwelling.  The  former  was  the 
rectory  and  the  smaller  dwelling  was  where 
the  old  woman  lived  who  took  care  of  the 
rectory,  cleaned  up  the  two  rooms  which 
the  rector  used  since  his  wife's  death,  and 
furnished  him  his  meals.  It  had  begun 
only  as  a  temporary  arrangement,  but  it  had 
seemed  to  work  well  enough  and  had  gone 
on  now  for  years  and  no  one  thought  of 
changing  it.  If  an  idea  of  change  ever 
entered  the  mind  of  any  one,  it  was  only 
when  the  old  woman's  grumbling  floated 
out  into  the  town  as  to  the  tramps  who 
would  come  and  whom  the  preacher  would 
108 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

try  to  take  care  of.  Then,  indeed,  dis 
cussion  would  take  place  as  to  the  utter 
impracticability  of  the  old  preacher  and 
the  possibility  of  getting  a  younger  and 
liver  man  in  his  place.  For  the  rest  of  the 
time  the  people  were  hopeless.  The  old 
preacher  was  past  his  prime;  no  one  else 
wanted  him,  and  they  could  not  turn  him 
out.  He  was  saddled  on  them  for  life. 
They  ran  simply  by  the  old  propulsion ;  but 
the  church  was  going  down,  they  said,  and 
they  were  helpless.  This  had  been  the  case 
for  years.  And  now  as  the  year  neared  its 
close  it  was  the  same. 

Such  was  the  talk  as  they  finished  dress 
ing  the  church  for  Christmas  and  made 
their  way  homeward,  the  few  who  still 
took  interest  enough  to  help  in  this  way. 
They  felt  sorry  for  the  old  man,  who  had 
been  much  in  their  way  during  the  dressing, 
but  sorrier  for  themselves.  This  had  been  a 
few  days  before  Christmas  and  now  it  was 
Christmas  eve. 

The  old  rector  sat  at  his  table  trying  to 
write  his  Christmas  sermon.  He  was  hope- 
109 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

lessly  behindhand  with  it.  The  table  was 
drawn  up  close  to  the  worn  stove,  but  the 
little  bare  room  was  cold,  and  now  and  then 
the  old  man  blew  on  his  ringers  to  warm 
them,  and  pushed  his  feet  closer  to  the  black 
hearth.  Again  and  again  he  took  up  his 
pen  as  if  to  write,  and  as  often  laid  it  down 
again.  The  weather  was  bitter  and  the  coal 
would  not  burn.  There  was  little  to  burn. 
Before  him  on  the  table,  amid  a  litter  of 
other  books  and  papers,  lay  a  worn  bible  and 
prayer-book — open,  and  beside  them  a  folded 
letter  on  which  his  eye  often  rested.  Out 
side,  the  wind  roared,  shaking  the  doors, 
rattling  the  windows,  and  whistling  at  the 
key-holes.  Now  and  then  the  sound  of  a 
passing  vehicle  was  borne  in  on  the  wind, 
and  at  intervals  came  the  voices  of  boys 
shouting  to  each  other  as  they  ran  by.  The 
old  man  did  not  hear  the  former,  but  when 
the  boys  shouted  he  listened  till  they  had 
ceased  and  his  thoughts  turned  to  the  past 
and  to  the  two  boys  whom  God  had  given 
him  and  had  then  taken  back  to  Himself. 
His  gray  face  wore  a  look  of  deep  concern, 
no 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

and,  indeed,  of  dejection,  and  his  eye  wan 
dered  once  more  to  the  folded  letter  on  the 
table.  It  was  signed  "A  Friend,"  and  it 
was  this  which  was  responsible  for  the  un 
written  Christmas  sermon.  It  was  what 
the  world  calls  an  anonymous  letter  and, 
though  couched  in  kindly  terms,  it  had 
struck  a  dagger  into  the  old  man's  heart. 
And  yet  he  could  not  but  say  that  in  tone 
and  manner  it  was  a  kind  act.  Certainly 
it  had  told  the  truth  and  if  in  tearing  a  veil 
from  his  eyes  it  had  stunned  him,  why 
should  he  not  face  the  truth! 

He  took  up  the  letter  again  and  reread 
it,  not  that  he  needed  to  read  it,  for  he  knew 
it  by  heart. 

He  reread  it  hoping  to  find  some  answer 
to  its  plain,  blunt,  true  statements,  but  he 
found  none.  It  was  all  true,  every  word, 
from  the  ominous  beginning  which  stated 
that  the  writer  felt  that  he  had  "a  clear 
duty  to  perform,"  down  to  the  close  when 
with  a  protestation  of  good-will  he  signed 
himself  the  old  man's  "friend." 

"You  must  see,  unless  you  are  blind," 
in 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

ran  the  letter,  "  that  your  church  is  running 
down,  and  unless  you  get  out  and  let  the 
congregation  secure  a  new  and  younger 
man,  there  will  soon  be  no  congregation 
at  all  left.  No  men  come  to  church  any 
longer  and  many  women  who  used  to  come 
now  stay  away.  You  are  a  good  man,  but 
you  are  a  failure.  Your  usefulness  is  past." 

Yes,  it  was  true,  he  was  a  failure.  His 
usefulness  was  past.  This  was  the  reason 
no  Christmas  things  had  come  this  year — 
they  wanted  to  let  him  know.  It  pained 
him  to  think  it,  and  he  sighed. 

"You  spend  your  time  fooling  about  a  lot 
of  useless  things,  visiting  people  who  do 
not  come  to  church,  and  you  have  turned 
the  rectory  into  a  harbor  for  tramps/'  con 
tinued  the  anonymous  friend. 

"You  cannot  preach  any  longer.  You 
are  hopelessly  behind  the  times.  People 
nowadays  want  no  more  doctrinal  points 
discussed;  they  want  to  hear  live,  up-to- 
date,  practical  discourses  on  the  vital  prob 
lems  of  the  day — such  as  the  Rev.  Dr. 

delivers.  His  church  is  full/'  This  also 

112 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

was  true.  He  was  no  longer  able  to  preach. 
He  had  felt  something  of  this  himself. 
Now  it  came  home  to  him  like  a  blow  on  the 
head,  and  a  deeper  pain  was  the  conviction 
which,  long  hovering  about  his  heart,  now 
settled  and  took  definite  shape,  that  he 
ought  to  get  out.  But  where  could  he  go? 
He  would  have  gone  long  since  if  he  had 
known  where  to  go.  He  could  not  go  out 
and  graze  like  an  old  horse  on  the  roadside. 
There  was  no  provision  made  for  those  like 
him.  No  pensions  were  provided  by  his 
church  for  old  and  disabled  clergymen  and 
the  suggestion  made  in  the  letter  had  no 
foundation  in  his  case.  It  ran,  "You  must 
or,  at  least,  you  should  have  saved  some 
thing  in  all  this  time/5 

This  sounded  almost  humorous  and  a 
wintry  little  smile  flickered  for  a  moment 
about  the  old  man's  wrinkled  mouth.  His 
salary  had  never  been  a  thousand  dollars,  and 
there  were  so  many  to  give  to.  Of  late,  it 
had  been  less  than  two-thirds  of  this  amount 
and  not  all  of  this  had  been  paid.  The 
smile  died  out  and  the  old  man's  face  grew 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

grave  again  as  he  tried  to  figure  out  what  he 
could  do.  He  thought  of  one  or  two  old 
friends  to  whom  he  could  write.  Possibly, 
they  might  know  of  some  country  parish  that 
would  be  willing  to  take  him,  though  it  was 
a  forlorn  hope.  If  he  could  but  hold  on  till 
they  invited  him,  it  would  be  easier,  for  he 
knew  how  difficult  it  was  for  a  clergyman 
out  of  a  place  to  get  a  call.  People  were  so 
suspicious.  Once  out,  he  was  lost. 

At  the  thought,  a  picture  of  a  little  plot 
amid  the  trees  in  the  small  cemetery  on  the 
hill  near  the  town  slipped  into  his  mind. 
Three  little  slabs  stood  there  above  three 
mounds,  one  longer  than  the  others.  They 
covered  all  that  was  mortal  of  what  he  had 
loved  best  on  earth.  The  old  man  sighed 
and  his  face  in  the  dim  light  took  on  an  ex 
pression  very  far  away.  He  drifted  off  into 
a  reverie.  Ah,  if  they  had  only  been  left 
to  him,  the  two  boys  that  God  had  sent  him 
and  had  then  taken  back  to  Himself,  and 
the  good  wife  who  had  borne  up  so  bravely 
till  she  had  sunk  by  the  wayside!  If  he 
were  only  with  them !  He  used  to  be  rebel- 
114 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED   BY  NIGHT 

lious  at  the  neglect  that  left  the  drains  so 
deadly,  but  that  was  gone  now.  He  leant 
forward  on  his  elbows  and  gradually  slipped 
slowly  to  his  knees.  He  was  on  them  a  long 
time,  and  when  he  tried  to  rise  he  was  quite 
stiff;  but  his  face  had  grown  tranquil.  He 
had  been  in  high  converse  with  the  blessed 
of  God  and  his  mind  had  cleared.  He  had 
placed  everything  in  God's  hands,  and  He 
had  given  him  light.  He  would  wait  until 
after  Christmas  and  then  he  would  resign. 
But  he  would  announce  it  next  day.  The 
flock  there  should  have  a  new  and  younger 
and  abler  shepherd.  This  would  be  glad 
tidings  to  them. 

He  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  away. 
He  no  longer  felt  wounded  by  it.  It  was 
of  God's  ordaining  and  was  to  be  received 
as  a  kindness,  a  ray  of  light  to  show  him 
the  path  of  duty.  He  drew  his  paper  to 
ward  him  and,  taking  up  his  pen,  began  to 
write  rapidly  and  firmly.  The  doubt  was 
gone,  the  way  was  clear.  His  text  had 
come  to  his  mind. 

"And  there  were  in  the  same  country, 
shepherds  abiding  in  the  field,  keeping 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

watch  over  their  flock  by  night,  and  lo,  the 
angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  them,  and  the 
glory  of  the  Lord  shone  round  about  them. 
And  they  were  sore  afraid.  And  the  angel 
said  unto  them:  Fear  not,  for  behold,  I 
bring  unto  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy, 
which  shall  be  to  all  people.  For  unto  you 
is  born  this  day  in  the  City  of  David  a 
Saviour  which  is  Christ  the  Lord.  And 
this  shall  be  a  sign  unto  you.  You  shall 
find  the  Babe  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes 
lying  in  a  manger." 

Unfolding  the  story,  he  told  of  the  dark 
ness  that  had  settled  over  Israel  under  the 
Roman  sway  and  the  formalism  of  the  Jew 
ish  hierarchy  at  the  time  of  Christ's  coming, 
drawing  from  it  the  lesson  that  God  still 
had  shepherds  watching  over  His  flocks  in 
the  night  to  whom  He  vouchsafed  to  send 
His  heavenly  messengers.  On  and  on  he 
wrote,  picturing  the  divine  mission  of  the 
Redeemer  and  His  power  to  save  souls,  and 
dwelling  on  Christmas  as  the  ever-recurrent 
reminder  of  "the  tender  mercy  of  our  God 
whereby  the  Day  Spring  from  on  High 

hath  visited  us." 

116 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

Suddenly  he  came  to  a  pause.  Something 
troubled  him.  It  flashed  over  him  that 
he  had  heard  that  a  woman  in  the  town 
was  very  sick  and  he  had  intended  going  to 
see  her.  She  had  had  a  bad  reputation; 
but  he  had  heard  that  she  had  reformed. 
At  any  rate  she  was  ill.  He  paused  and  de 
liberated.  At  the  moment  the  wind  rattled 
the  shutters.  She  did  not  belong  to  his 
flock  or,  so  far  as  he  knew,  to  any  flock, 
and  once  when  he  had  stopped  her  on  the 
street  and  spoken  to  her  of  her  evil  life, 
she  had  insulted  him. 

He  turned  back  to  his  paper,  pen  in 
hand;  but  it  was  borne  in  on  him  that  he 
was  writing  of  watching  over  the  flock  by 
night  and  here  he  was  neglecting  one  of 
his  Father's  sheep.  He  laid  aside  his  pen 
and,  rising,  took  down  his  old  overcoat  and 
hat  and  stick,  lit  his  lantern,  turned  down 
his  lamp,  and  shuffling  through  the  bare, 
narrow  passage,  let  himself  out  at  the  door. 

As  he  came  out  on  to  the  little  porch 
to  step  down  to  the  walk,  the  wind  struck 
him  fiercely  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in 
117 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

fastening  the  door  with  its  loose  lock;  but 
this  done  he  pushed  forward.  The  black 
trees  swayed  and  creaked  above  him  in  the 
high  night  wind,  and  fine  particles  of  snow 
stung  his  withered  cheeks.  He  wondered 
if  the  shepherds  in  the  fields  ever  had  such 
a  night  as  this  for  their  watch.  He  re 
membered  to  have  read  that  snow  fell  on 
the  mountains  of  Judaea. 

At  length  he  reached  the  little  house  on  a 
back  street  where  he  had  heard  the  sick 
woman  lived.  A  light  glimmered  dimly  in 
an  upper  window  and  his  knocking  finally 
brought  to  the  door  a  woman  who  looked 
after  her.  She  was  not  in  a  good  humor  at 
being  disturbed  at  that  hour,  for  her  rest 
had  been  much  broken  of  late;  but  she  was 
civil  and  invited  him  in. 

In  answer  to  his  question  of  how  her 
patient  was,  she  replied  gloomily:  "No  bet 
ter;  the  doctor  says  she  can't  last  much 
longer.  Do  you  want  to  see  her?"  she 
added  presently. 

The  old  rector  said  he  did  and  she  waved 
toward  the  stair.  "You  can  walk  up." 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

As  they  climbed  the  stair  she  added :  "  She 
said  you'd  come  if  you  knew."  The  words 
made  the  old  man  warmer.  And  when  she 
opened  the  door  of  the  sick  room  and  said, 
"Here's  the  preacher,  as  you  said,"  the 
faint  voice  of  the  invalid  murmuring,  "I 
hoped  you'd  come,"  made  him  feel  yet 
warmer. 

He  was  still  of  some  use  even  in  this 
parish. 

Whatever  her  face  had  been  in  the  past, 
illness  and  suffering  had  refined  it.  He 
stayed  there  long,  for  he  found  that  she 
needed  him.  She  unburdened  herself  to 
him.  She  was  sorry  she  had  been  rude  to 
him  that  time.  She  had  been  a  sinful 
woman.  She  said  she  had  tried  of  late  to 
live  a  good  life,  since  that  day  he  had 
spoken  to  her,  but  she  now  found  that  she 
had  not.  She  had  wanted  to  be  a  believer 
and  she  had  gone  to  hear  him  preach  one 
day  after  that,  but  now  she  did  not  seem 
to  believe  anything.  She  wanted  to  repent, 
but  she  could  not  feel.  She  was  in  the  dark 
and  she  feared  she  was  lost. 
119 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

The  old  man  had  taken  his  seat  by  her 
side,  and  he  now  held  her  hand  and  soothed 
her  tenderly. 

"Once,  perhaps,"  he  said  doubtfully, 
"though  God  only  knows  that,  but  cer 
tainly  no  longer.  Christ  died  for  you.  You 
say  you  wanted  to  change,  that  you  tried  to 
ask  God's  pardon  and  to  live  a  better  life 
even  before  you  fell  ill.  Do  you  think  you 
could  want  this  as  much  as  God  wanted  it? 
He  put  the  wish  into  your  heart.  Do  you 
think  He  would  now  let  you  remain  lost? 
Why,  He  sent  His  Son  into  the  world  to  seek 
and  to  save  the  lost.  He  has  sent  me  to 
you  to-night  to  tell  you  that  He  has  come 
to  save  you.  It  is  not  you  that  can  save 
yourself,  but  He,  and  if  you  feel  that  it  is 
dark  about  you,  never  mind — the  path  is 
still  there.  One  of  the  old  Fathers  has  said 
that  God  sometimes  puts  His  children  to 
sleep  in  the  dark.  He  not  only  forgave  the 
Magdalen  for  her  love  of  Him,  but  He 
vouchsafed  to  her  the  first  sight  of  his  face 
after  His  resurrection." 

"I  see,"  she  said  simply. 


120 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

A  little  later  she  dozed  off,  but  presently 
roused  up  again.  A  bell  was  ringing  some 
where  in  the  distance.  It  was  the  ushering 
in  of  the  Christmas  morn. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  feebly. 

He  told  her. 

"I  think  if  I  were  well,  if  I  could  ever 
be  good  enough,  I  should  like  to  join  the 
church,"  she  said.  "I  remember  being  bap 
tized — long  ago." 

''You  have  joined  it,"  he  replied. 

Just  then  the  nurse  brought  her  a  glass. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  feebly. 

"A  little  wine."  She  held  up  a  bottle  in 
which  a  small  quantity  remained. 

It  seemed  to  the  old  preacher  a  sort  of 
answer  to  his  thought.  "Have  you  bread 
here?"  he  asked  the  young  woman.  She 
went  out  and  a  moment  later  brought  him  a 
piece  of  bread. 

He  had  often  administered  the  early  com 
munion  on  Christmas  morning,  but  never 
remembered  a  celebration  that  had  seemed 
to  him  so  real  and  satisfying.  As  he  thought 
of  the  saints  departed  this  life  in  the  faith 

121 


THE  LAND   OF   THE  SPIRIT 

and  fear  of  the  Lord,  they  appeared  to  throng 
about  him  as  never  before,  and  among  them 
were  the  faces  he  had  known  and  loved  best 
on  earth. 

It  was  toward  morning  when  he  left.  As 
he  bade  her  good-by  he  knew  he  should  see 
her  no  more  this  side  of  heaven. 

As  he  came  out  into  the  night  the  snow 
was  falling  softly,  but  the  wind  had  died 
down  and  he  no  longer  felt  cold.  The  street 
was  empty,  but  he  no  longer  felt  lonely.  He 
seemed  to  have  got  nearer  to  God's  throne. 

Suddenly,  as  he  neared  his  house,  a  sound 
fell  on  his  ears.  He  stopped  short  and 
listened.  Could  he  have  been  mistaken? 
Could  that  have  been  a  baby's  cry?  There 
was  no  dwelling  near  but  his  own,  and  on 
that  side  only  the  old  and  unoccupied  stable 
in  the  yard  whence  the  sound  had  seemed  to 
come.  A  glance  at  it  showed  that  it  was 
dark  and  he  was  moving  on  again  to  the 
house  when  the  sound  was  repeated.  This 
time  there  was  no  doubt  of  it.  A  baby's 
wail  came  clear  on  the  silence  of  the  night 
from  the  unused  stable.  A  thought  that  it 

122 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED   BY  NIGHT 

might  be  some  poor  foundling  flashed  into 
his  mind.  The  old  man  turned  and,  stum 
bling  across  the  yard,  went  to  the  door. 

"Who  is  here?"  he  asked  of  the  dark. 
There  was  no  answer,  but  the  child  wailed 
again,  and  he  entered  the  dark  building, 
asking  again,  "Who  is  here?"  as  he  groped 
his  way  forward.  This  time  a  voice  almost 
inarticulate  answered.  Holding  his  dim 
little  lantern  above  his  head,  he  made  his 
way  inside,  peering  into  the  darkness,  and 
presently,  in  a  stall,  on  a  lot  of  old  litter,  he 
descried  a  dark  and  shapeless  mass  from 
which  the  sound  came.  Moving  forward, 
he  bent  down,  with  the  lantern  held  low, 
and  the  dark  mass  gradually  took  shape  as 
a  woman's  form  seated  on  the  straw.  A 
patch  of  white,  from  which  a  pair  of  eyes 
gazed  up  at  him,  became  a  face,  and  below, 
a  small  bundle  clasped  to  her  breast  took  on 
the  lines  of  a  babe. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked, 

breathless  with  astonishment.     She  shook 

her  head  wearily  and  her  lips  moved  as  if 

to  say:  "I  didn't  mean  any  harm."     But  no 

123 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

sound  came.  She  only  tried  to  fold  the 
babe  more  warmly  in  her  shawl.  He  took 
off  his  overcoat  and  wrapped  it  around  her. 
"Come,"  he  said  firmly.  ''  You  must  come 
with  me,"  he  added  kindly;  then,  as  she  did 
not  rise,  he  put  out  his  hand  to  lift  her,  but, 
instead,  suddenly  set  down  the  lantern  and 
took  the  babe  gently  in  his  arms.  She  let 
him  take  the  child,  and  rose  slowly,  her  eyes 
still  on  him.  He  motioned  for  her  to  take 
the  lantern  and  she  did  so.  And  they  came 
to  the  door.  He  turned  up  the  walk,  the 
babe  in  his  arms,  and  she  going  before  him 
with  the  lantern.  The  ground  was  softly 
carpeted  with  snow;  the  wind  had  died 
down,  but  the  clouds  had  disappeared  and 
the  trees  were  all  white,  softly  gleaming,  like 
dream-trees  in  a  dreamland.  The  old  man 
shivered  slightly,  but  not  now  with  cold. 
He  felt  as  if  he  had  gone  back  and  held  once 
more  in  his  arms  one  of  those  babes  he 
had  given  back  to  God.  He  thought  of 
the  shepherds  who  watched  by  night  on  the 
Judaean  hills.  "It  must  have  been  such 
a  night  as  this,"  he  thought,  as  his  eyes 
124 


"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

caught  the  morning  star  which  appeared  to 
rest  just  over  his  home. 

When  they  reached  his  door  he  saw  that 
some  one  had  been  there  in  his  absence.  A 
large  box  stood  on  the  little  porch  and  beside 
it  a  basket  filled  with  things.  So  he  had  not 
been  forgotten  after  all.  The  milkman  also 
had  called  and  for  his  customary  small  bot 
tle  of  milk  had  left  one  of  double  the  usual 
size.  When  he  let  himself  in  at  the  door, 
he  took  the  milk  with  him.  So  the  shep 
herds  might  have  done,  he  thought. 

It  was  long  before  he  could  get  the  fire  to 
burn;  but  in  time  this  was  done;  the  room 
was  warm  and  the  milk  was  warmed  also. 
The  baby  was  quieted  and  was  soon  asleep 
in  its  mother's  lap,  where  she  sat  still 
hooded,  before  the  stove.  And  as  the  fire 
light  fell  from  the  open  stove  on  the  child, 
in  its  mother's  arms,  the  old  man  thought  of 
a  little  picture  he  had  once  seen  in  a  shop 
window.  He  had  wanted  to  buy  it,  but  he 
had  never  felt  that  he  could  gratify  such  a 
taste.  There  were  too  many  calls  on  him. 
Then,  as  the  young  woman  appeared  over- 
125 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

come  with  fatigue,  the  old  man  put  her  with 
the  child  in  the  only  bed  in  the  house  that 
was  ready  for  an  occupant  and,  returning  to 
the  little  living-room,  ensconced  himself  in 
his  arm-chair  by  the  stove.  He  had  meant 
to  finish  his  sermon,  but  he  was  conscious  for 
the  first  time  that  he  was  very  tired;  but 
he  was  also  very  happy.  When  he  awoke 
he  found  that  it  was  quite  late.  He  had 
overslept  and  though  his  breakfast  had  been 
set  out  for  him,  he  had  time  only  to  make 
his  toilet  and  to  go  to  church.  The  mother 
and  child  were  still  asleep  in  his  room,  the 
babe  folded  in  her  arm,  and  he  stopped 
only  to  gaze  on  them  a  moment  and  to  set 
the  rest  of  the  milk  and  his  breakfast  where 
the  young  mother  could  find  it  on  awaking. 
Then  he  went  to  church,  taking  his  half- 
finished  sermon  in  his  worn  case.  He 
thought  with  some  dismay  that  it  was  un 
finished,  but  the  memory  of  the  poor  woman 
and  the  midnight  communion,  and  of  the 
young  mother  and  her  babe,  comforted  him ; 
so  he  plodded  on  bravely.  When  he  reached 
the  church  it  was  nearly  full.  He  had  not 
126 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

had  such  a  congregation  in  a  long  time. 
And  they  were  all  cheerful  and  happy. 
The  pang  he  had  had  as  he  remembered 
that  he  was  to  announce  his  resignation  that 
day  was  renewed,  but  only  for  a  second. 
The  thought  of  the  babe  and  its  mother, 
warmed  and  fed  in  his  little  home,  drove  it 
away.  And  soon  he  began  the  service. 

He  had  never  had  such  a  service.  It  all 
appeared  to  him  to  have  a  new  meaning. 
He  felt  nearer  to  the  people  in  the  pews  than 
he  ever  remembered  to  have  felt.  They 
were  more  than  ever  his  flock  and  he  more 
than  ever  their  shepherd.  More,  he  felt 
nearer  to  mankind,  and  yet  more  near  to 
those  who  had  gone  before — the  innumer 
able  company  of  the  redeemed.  They  were 
all  about  him,  clad  all  in  white,  glistening 
like  the  sun.  The  heavens  seemed  full  of 
them.  When  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the  win 
dow,  the  whole  earth  seemed  white  with 
them.  The  singing  sounded  in  his  ears  like 
the  choiring  of  angels.  He  was  now  in  a 
maze.  He  forgot  the  notice  he  had  meant 
to  give  and  went  straight  into  his  sermon, 
127 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

stumbling  a  little  as  he  climbed  the  steps  to 
the  pulpit.  He  repeated  the  text  and  kept 
straight  on.  He  told  the  story  of  the  shep 
herds  in  the  fields  watching  their  flocks 
when  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  came  upon  them 
and  told  of  the  Babe  in  the  manger  who  was 
Christ  the  Lord.  He  spoke  for  the  shep 
herds.  He  pictured  the  shepherds  watch 
ing  through  the  night  and  made  a  plea  for 
their  loneliness  and  the  hardship  of  their 
lives.  They  were  very  poor  and  ignorant. 
But  they  had  to  watch  the  flock  and  God 
had  chosen  them  to  be  His  messengers. 
The  wise  men  would  come  later,  but  now 
it  was  the  shepherds  who  first  knew  of  the 
birth  of  Christ  the  Lord.  He  was  not  read 
ing  as  was  his  wont.  It  was  all  out  of  his 
heart  and  the  eyes  of  all  seemed  to  be  on 
him — of  all  in  pews  and  of  all  that  innumer 
able  white-clad  host  about  him. 

He  was  not  altogether  coherent,  for  he  at 
times  appeared  to  confuse  himself  with  the 
shepherds.  He  spoke  as  if  the  message  had 
come  to  him,  and  after  a  while  he  talked  of 
some  experiences  he  had  had  in  finding  a 
128 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED   BY  NIGHT 

child  in  a  stable.  He  spoke  as  though  he 
had  really  seen  it.  "And  now,"  he  said, 
"  this  old  shepherd  must  leave  his  flock,  the 
message  has  come  for  him." 

He  paused  and  looked  down  at  his  sermon 
and  turned  the  leaves  slowly,  at  first  care 
fully  and  then  almost  aimlessly.  A  breath 
of  wind  blew  in  and  a  few  leaves  slid  off  the 
desk  and  fluttered  down  to  the  floor. 

"I  have  been  in  some  fear  lately,"  he  said, 
"but  God  has  appeared  to  make  the  way 
plain.  A  friend  has  helped  me,  and  I 
thank  him."  He  looked  around  and  lost 
himself.  "I  seem  to  have  come  to  the 
end,"  he  said,  smiling  simply  with  a  soft, 
childish  expression  stealing  over  and  lighting 
up  his  wan  face.  "I  had  something  more  I 
wanted  to  say,  but  I  can't  find  it  and — I 
can't  remember.  I  seem  too  tired  to  re 
member  it.  I  am  a  very  old  man  and  you 
must  bear  with  me,  please,  while  I  try."  He 
quietly  turned  and  walked  down  the  steps, 
holding  on  to  the  railing. 

As  he  stooped  to  pick  up  a  loose  sheet 
from  the  floor,  he  sank  to  his  knees,  but 
129 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

he  picked  it  up.  "Here  it  is,"  he  said 
with  a  tone  of  relief.  "I  remember  now. 
It  is  that  there  were  shepherds  abiding  in 
the  fields,  keeping  watch  over  their  flocks 
by  night,  and  the  light  came  upon  them 
and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone  round 
about  them  and  they  were  sore  afraid,  and 
the  angel  said  unto  them:  'Fear  not,  for 
behold,  I  bring  unto  you  good  tidings  of 
great  joy  which  shall  be  unto  all  people; 
for  unto  you  is  born  this  day  in  the  city 
of  David  a  Saviour  which  is  Christ  the 
Lord/" 

They  reached  him  as  he  sank  down  and, 
lifting  him,  placed  him  on  a  cushion  taken 
from  a  pew.  He  was  babbling  softly  of  a 
babe  in  a  stable  and  of  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  that  shone  round  about  them.  "  Don't 
you  hear  them  singing?"  he  said.  "You 
must  sing  too;  we  must  all  join  them." 

At  the  suggestion  of  some  one,  a  woman's 
clear  voice  struck  up, 

"While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night," 
130 


SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

and  they  sang  it  through  as  well  as  they 
could  for  sobbing.  But  before  the  hymn 
was  ended  the  old  shepherd  had  joined  the 
heavenly  choir  and  had  gone  away  up  into 
heaven. 

As  they  laid  him  in  the  little  chamber  on 
the  hill  opening  to  the  sunrise,  the  look  on 
his  face  showed  that  the  name  of  that  cham 
ber  was  Peace. 

They  talk  of  him  still  in  his  old  parish — 
of  the  good  he  did,  and  of  his  peaceful  death 
on  the  day  that  of  all  the  year  signified 
Birth  and  Life. 

Nothing  was  ever  known  of  the  mother 
and  babe.  Only  there  was  a  rumor  that 
one  had  been  seen  leaving  the  house  dur 
ing  the  morning  and  passing  out  into  the 
white-clad  country.  And  at  the  little  inn 
in  the  town  there  was  vague  wonder  what 
had  become  of  the  woman  and  her  baby 
who  had  applied  for  shelter  there  the  night 
before  and  had  been  told  that  there  was  no 
place  for  her  there,  and  that  she  had  better 
go  to  the  old  preacher,  as  he  took  in  all  the 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

tramps.  But  in  heaven  it  is  known  that 
there  was  that  Christmas  eve  a  shepherd 
who  kept  watch  over  his  flock  by  night. 


132 


THE  BIGOT 

WE  had  fallen  to  talking  of  religion,  my 
friend,  Abner  Hood  and  I,  as  to  which  my 
friend  had  rather  advanced  views — hold 
ing  that  religion  was  progressive  as  well  as 
civilization.  He  had  relapsed  into  a  rev 
erie,  from  which  he  suddenly  emerged  with 
a  gesture  of  decision : 

"I  had  an  experience  once  which  I  think 
had  a  decided  influence  on  my  views.  I  got 
a  glimpse  of  the  stern  reality  of  Puritanism, 
whose  shadow  I  had  always  felt,  even  in  the 
West,  where  men  are  free." 

He  was  satisfied  with  my  interest,  and 
proceeded : 

My  people  came  from  W.  (he  mentioned 
a  small  town  in  New  England),  w7hich  had 
been  a  centre  of  the  theocratic  oligarchy 
which  spread  its  steely  tenets  over  New 
England  and  ruled  it  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
My  grandfather  moved  first  to  Philadelphia 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

and  then  on  to  the  Ohio  River,  to  what  was 
then  known  as  the  Far  West,  but  is  really 
only  on  the  inner  fringe  of  the  Eastern  sea 
board.  When  he  died  my  father  had 
enough  to  do  to  bring  up  a  growing  family, 
all  girls  but  myself,  and  we  never  heard 
much  of  our  relatives  back  in  the  East.  In 
fact,  in  those  times  I  think  the  West  rather 
prided  itself  on  being  independent  of  the 
East.  A  man  who  talked  about  his  an 
cestry  was  put  down  as  a  poor  specimen. 
It  was  only  after  the  war,  when  the  tide  of 
foreign  immigration  swept  in,  that  we  began 
to  value  our  ancestry,  to  talk  of  our  con 
nections  back  in  the  East,  and  boasted  of 
being  the  old  original  Americans. 

My  father  was  killed  in  the  war,  in  which 
I  had  also  taken  part,  having  run  off  from 
home  to  join  the  army,  and  when  I  reached 
home  I  was  the  only  man  of  my  name  whom 
I  knew,  and  I  began  to  feel  rather  lonely. 
I  accordingly  decided  one  autumn  to  avail 
myself  of  the  chance  offered  by  a  business 
trip  to  New  York,  to  run  on  and  take  a 
look  at  the  old  home  of  the  family  in  W. 


THE  BIGOT 

and  see  if  any  members  of  the  clan  still  sur 
vived.  I  conjectured  that  they  had  all  long 
since  disappeared.  The  only  one  I  had  ever 
heard  anything  of  was  an  old  great-uncle, 
about  whom  some  mystery  appeared  to 
hang;  but  as  he  was  my  grandfather's  eldest 
brother  I  imagined  that  he  must  have  died 
long  ago.  My  grandmother  rarely  spoke 
of  him,  and  then  with  a  lowered  voice  in  a 
tone  of  severe  moral  reprobation,  as  "an 
unbeliever."  It  was  clear  that  he  was, 
when  living,  the  black  sheep  of  the  flock, 
and  the  fact  that  we  had  not  been  bene 
ficiaries  in  his  will  had  not  contributed  to 
lighten  his  color.  He  had  not  cared  for  his 
own  family,  and  was  worse  than  an  infidel. 
I  arrived  at  W.  one  crystal  October  after 
noon,  just  the  sort  of  an  afternoon  I  had 
pictured  as  New  England  fall  weather,  with 
the  Tyrian  dyes  of  autumn  flung  all  over 
forest  and  pasture,  and  the  leaves  on  the 
ground  like  dappled  sunlight.  And,  find 
ing  my  somewhat  breezy  Western  way  re 
ceived  with  stolid  coldness  and  staring  sur 
prise,  by  those  I  first  accosted,  I  soon  laid  it 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

aside  for  occidental  use,  and  drew  myself 
into  a  shell  which  I  suddenly  discovered 
somewhere  handy  about  me  for  my  encase 
ment.  As  I  descended  from  the  jerky  train 
at  the  tidy  little  station  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  rambling  village  among  the  hills,  I  found 
myself  eyed  by  the  two  or  three  persons 
about  the  platform,  with  an  expression 
which  was  certainly  not  sympathetic,  and, 
if  it  contained  any  hint  of  interest,  it  was 
close  akin  to  mere  speculation. 

I  inquired  of  the  first  person  I  came  to — 
a  thin,  dust-colored  man,  with  a  slightly 
grizzled  mustache,  who  appeared  busy 
about  small  things — where  I  could  find  the 
hotel.  His  only  reply  was  a  call: 

"Sam,  here's  a  man  wants  to  go  to 
Simpson's." 

A  voice  sounded  from  somewhere:  "A-all 
ri-ight,"  and  an  ancient  vehicle,  which  I 
later  learned  was  known  as  the  "Old  Ship 
of  Sion,"  because  "she  had  carried  many 
thousands,"  and  "would  carry  many  more," 
hove  slowly  in  sight  from  behind  the  station, 
piloted  by  a  stout  individual  with  a  dyed 
136 


THE  BIGOT 

mustache  of  some  weeks'  standing.  I  got  in 
with  my  bag,  which  suddenly  appeared  to 
me  twice  as  heavy  as  usual,  and  we  drove 
slowly  off  in  the  direction  of  the  cluster  of 
houses  I  had  seen  among  the  big  trees  in 
the  distance,  with  a  solid-looking  brown 
church  shouldered  out  from  among  them. 

We  passed  a  number  of  newish  houses, 
white  or  yellow  or  brown,  hugging  the  road 
side,  and  reaching  out  with  modern  enter 
prise  toward  the  railway  station;  but  soon 
passed  beyond  them  into  a  broad,  curving 
avenue  bordered  by  great  elms,  interspersed 
with  ash,  sugar-maples,  and  oaks,  golden 
or  scarlet  from  the  autumn  nights.  Be 
hind  these  were  houses  of  a  wholly  differ 
ent  type,  some  built  on  the  street  line,  some 
set  back  in  yards;  but  all  with  harmonious 
proportions,  ornamental  door-ways  and  cor 
nices  and  dormer  windows,  bearing  a  sort  of 
resemblance,  as  of  members  of  a  family 
grown  old  together,  and  still  preserving 
their  air  of  distinction.  Some  had  wings, 
with  porticos;  some  had  none;  but  all  had 
certain  features  distinctly  alike.  A  few 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

children  were  seriously  playing  about  in  the 
walk-way,  but  most  of  those  I  saw  were 
joylessly  raking  up  the  leaves.  We  passed 
the  church,  which  stood  in  an  open  space 
by  itself.  It  was  the  only  building  without 
trees  about  it,  and  its  bareness  appeared  to 
give  it  a  certain  air  of  being  set  apart;  but 
this  may  have  been  due  to  its  square  and 
block-like  proportions  and  its  thick,  heavy 
spire,  with  a  great  white  clock-face  in  its 
front,  on  which  in  huge  black  characters 
was  painted  the  stern  warning:  "Memento 
Mori." 

I  had  soon  got  to  talking  with  my  driver, 
who,  while  a  dry  and  brief-spoken  person, 
appeared  to  be  something  of  a  philosopher, 
and  possibly,  even,  of  a  humorist.  My  first 
inquiry  as  to  the  hotel  received  a  prompt 
response. 

"Pete's?  Oh!  I  guess  he'll  take  you  in. 
He's  taken  in  a  good  might  before." 

As  this  was  enigmatical,  I  inquired  about 
the  fare. 

"Oh!  it's  purty  fair.  They  ain't  been  no 
manna  rained  down — not  lately — and  I 
138 


THE  BIGOT 

ain't  heard  of  no  quails  bein'  blown  this 
way  exactly — not  this  season;  but  if  you've 
got  good  teeth  I  guess  you  can  sustain 
life." 

About  this  time  he  apparently  decided  to 
ask  me  a  few  questions. 

"Travellin'man?" 

"Well,  no — not  exactly." 

After  a  pause : 

"Lookin'  for  horses?" 

"No,  not  exactly." 

"Lookin' for  land?" 

"No,  not  exactly." 

A  longer  pause.     Then: 

"Well,  exactly,  what  air  you  a-lookin* 
fur?" 

I  thought  this  a  propitious  time  to  elicit 
some  information,  so  I  said : 

"Well,  exactly,  I  came  to  see  somebody 
by  the  name  of  Hood,  or,  failing  him,  some 
body  who  might  be  related  to  the  old  family 
of  that  name  who  used  to  live  here.  Is 
there  anybody  of  the  name  living  here 
now?" 

"Yep — guess  there  is,  unless  old  Ab's 
139 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

passed  away  as  he's  lived,  without  askin' 
anybody's  edvice  or  leave." 

" ' Old  Ab'?— who's  he?" 

"Just  old  Ab— so— old  Abner  Hood  't 
lives  in  the  old  house  on  the  hill,  like  an  owl 
in  his  tree,  and  don't  see  nobody  from  year's 
en'  to  year's  end." 

"Why,  how  does  he  live?  How  old  is 
he?"  I  asked  in  one  breath. 

He  answered  the  latter  question  first. 

"If  he's  as  old  as  they  say  he  looks,  he 
must  be  nigh  on  a  hundred.  I  guess  from 
what  I've  heard  that  he's  in  and  about 
ninety  year." 

"Didn't  you  ever  see  him?" 

"Yep — when  I  was  a  lad  I  see  him  often 
when  we  boys  used  to  go  up  the  hill  for 
chestnuts  and  peeked  at  him  of  a  evenin'. 
I  guess  it's  twenty  year  since  I  las'  seen 
him." 

I  was  now  much  interested.  He  might 
be  my  great-uncle. 

"What  was  he  doing?     Is  he  an  invalid?" 

"Just  perambulatin'  up  and  down.  No, 
I  don't  know  as  he  is.  He's  got  a  man 
140 


THE  BIGOT 

there  as  looks  after  him,  named  Simon 
Morse,  and  I  see  him  last  year  once  or 
twice." 

"Is  he  mad? — the  old  man,  I  mean." 

"Not  as  I  knows  on — least,  no  madder 
than  he's  been  this  sixty  year,  since  he  first 
shut  himself  up  and  said,  "Farewell,  vain 
worlV" 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"We-a-11 — they  say  he  had  a  blight — I 
don'  know,  but  he  certainly  had  some- 
thin'." 

"<A  blight?'" 

"Was  disapp'inted  in  his  affections. 
Well,  he's  disapp'inted  a  good  many  since." 

"How?" 

"By  holdin'  on.  There's  some  several 
been  waitin'  for  him  to  git  out;  but  he'll  see 
'em  through  yet,  if  his  old  house  don't  fall 
down  on  him  one  o'  these  here  windy 
nights.  And  they'll  never  git  a  cent,  any 
ways." 

"Who  are  "they '  ?  What  are  their  names, 
and  what  relation  are  they  to  him?"  I 
asked. 

141 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"The  Kinsies  and  the  Wynnses.  I 
don't  rightly  know  how  nigh  they  be — 
some — the  older  he  gits,  the  nigher  they 
gits.  But  they  needn't/'  he  chuckled; 
"he'll  never  have  nothin'  to  do  with  'em 
in  this  worl',  nor  the  next,  if  he  can  help  it." 

"Well,  tell  me,  what  sort  of  house  does  he 
live  in  ? "  I  had  determined  to  seek  him  out, 
if  possible. 

"Oh!  It  was  once  a  fine  house — the  big 
gest  abaout  here — they  called  it  The  Hall 
onct — but  it's  purty  well  tumbled  down 
now.  You  have  to  look  for  it  to  find  it 
among  the  trees,  and  but  for  it's  bein'  so 
high  up  the  hill  you  couldn'  find  it  at  all. 
They  say  the  bushes  grow  up  through  the 
porch.  You  see,  he's  somethin'  of  what 
you  might  call  a  re-cluse." 

It  did  look  so. 

I  dropped  my  bag  at  Simpson's  hotel, 
an  uninviting-looking  inn;  and  slipped  out 
without  registering,  making  some  excuse 
about  "a  walk  before  dark." 

I  determined  not  to  seek  out  the  other 
relatives  who  were  more  distant,  of  whom 
142 


THE  BIGOT 

my  friend  had  told  me;  but  to  slip  up  un 
observed  if  I  could,  and  go  boldly  and  try 
to  see  my  old  uncle.  So,  having  succeeded 
in  getting  away,  so  far  as  I  could  tell,  with 
out  anybody's  suspecting  my  destination,  I 
made  my  way  in  the  direction  my  friend 
had  indicated,  and  soon  recognized  the 
house  he  had  described,  on  the  middle  slope 
of  a  long  wooded  hill  which  commanded  the 
village.  It  was  at  sight  the  retreat  of  a  re 
cluse.  The  road  which  had  once  led  up  to 
it  from  "the  street,"  as  the  high-road  was 
called,  had  been  walled  up  and  planted  in 
shrubbery,  now  grown  to  trees.  The  en 
trance  to  "the  grounds,"  where  there  had 
once  been  stone  pillars  and  an  iron  gate  of 
some  pretension,  was  now  situated  in  a  tan 
gled  wild,  the  pillars  dilapidated,  and  the 
gate  buried  a  foot  in  the  soil.  Within,  the 
grounds  had  become  a  wilderness,  where  the 
trees  grew  thick,  and  the  tangled  shrubbery 
filled  the  intervening  spaces  in  an  impen 
etrable  jungle. 

I  had  expected,  after  my  guide's  account, 
to  find  some  obstructions  in  my  way,  but 
nothing  comparable  to  this  inextricable  tan- 
143 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

gle.  But,  after  reconnoitring  sedulously  the 
surroundings  of  the  front  of  the  grounds, 
I  skirted  the  place  and,  making  my  way  up 
along  the  side  through  the  wood,  "fetched  a 
compass,"  and,  climbing  a  rotten  wall, 
struck  into  the  bosom  of  the  wilderness  as 
boldly  as  my  beating  heart  would  allow. 
It  happened  that  my  easiest  line  of  approach 
led  me  through  trees  and  shrubbery  to  a 
point  at  the  back  of  the  house,  which  faced 
somewhat  to  the  west.  As  I  emerged  I 
found  a  tumble-down  stable  and  barns  once 
extensive,  and  a  stretch  of  open  ground  at 
the  back,  flooded  by  the  light  of  the  declin 
ing  sun — a  sort  of  lawn  between  the  thick 
ets  which  screened  it  on  the  sides,  and  be 
yond  it  a  pathway  and  a  sort  of  track  up 
into  the  wood  above. 

But  what  arrested  my  attention  more 
than  all  the  rest  was  the  figure  of  an  old 
man,  tall  and  spare,  with  long  white  hair  on 
his  shoulders,  walking  slowly  up  and  down 
on  the  grass  plot,  an  old  hat  slanted  over  his 
eyes,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  He  was 
clad  in  a  long  frock-coat  with  a  high  collar, 
and  a  stock  about  his  throat  gave  him  the 
144 


THE  BIGOT 

appearance  of  a  past  age,  such  as  I  had  seen 
in  pictures,  but  never  in  life. 

Taking  courage  of  my  fears,  I  at  length 
stepped  forward  and  advanced  across  the 
open  space,  toward  a  point  where  I  might  in 
tercept  him  at  his  next  turn.  He  turned  as 
I  expected,  and,  looking  up,  caught  sight  of 
me.  He  stopped  short.  His  figure  straight 
ened,  and  he  wheeled  abruptly,  and,  with 
a  step  of  such  unexpected  firmness  that 
it  appeared  like  a  stride,  he  gained  the 
small  porch  which  led  to  the  back  door 
of  the  mansion.  I  thought  he  had  es 
caped  me;  but  I  kept  on  steadily,  and, 
with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  he  suddenly 
turned,  and,  apparently  reconsidering  his  in 
tention,  took  a  step  forward  and  awaited 
my  approach,  his  whole  countenance  and 
figure  expressive  of  resentment.  Deter 
mined,  if  possible,  to  conciliate  him,  I  lifted 
my  hat  and  accosted  him  respectfully: 

"Good-evening,  sir." 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  What  do  you  want  ? " 
he  demanded,  sternly. 

"  I  have  called  to  pay  my  respects  to  you, 
145 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

sir,  as  the  head  of  our  house."  I  spoke  very 
deferentially,  observing  him  closely — as  he 
also  was  observing  me. 

"Who  may  you  be?  And  where  do  you 
come  from?"  he  demanded,  but  little  pla 
cated. 

"I  come  from  the  West — from  the  State 
of ,  and  my  name  is  Abner  Hood/' 

"Abner  Hood!  How  did  you  come  by 
that  name?  And  by  what  right  do  you 
invade  my  retirement?" 

"I  come  by  it  honestly,"  I  said,  smiling  a 
little,  "and  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  in 
truding  on  you  because  I  wanted  to  know 
you." 

"Why  should  you  wish  to  know  me?" 
His  eye  was  suspicious  and  his  tone  was 
cold. 

"Because  I  have  your  brother's  blood  in 
my  veins — "  I  began,  but  he  interrupted 
me. 

"Cain  had  the  blood  of  Abel's  parents  in 

his  veins,  the  theologians  say,  but  I  am  not 

aware  that  that  proved  affection.     David 

and  Joab  had  common  blood  in  their  veins, 

146 


THE  BIGOT 

but  the  former's  last  message  to  his  son  was 
to  slay  Joab,  and  he  slew  him  at  the  altar. 
It  has  not  been  my  experience  that  com 
mon  blood  proves  affection,  and  I  have 
had  longer  experience  of  life  than  you, 
young  man." 

I  thought  that  his  talking  so  much  was  a 
propitious  sign,  and  his  manner  had  relaxed 
a  little,  though  his  words  were  still  hostile; 
so  I  said: 

"I  assure  you,  sir,  that  I  am  neither  Cain 
nor  Abel — only  Abner — who,  if  I  recollect 
aright,  had  more  cause  to  complain  of  Joab 
than  Joab  of  him." 

The  old  fellow  gave  a  grunt. 

"I  see  that  you  still  know  something  of 
the  Bible."  But  his  manner  softened. 
And  I  continued: 

"I  assure  you  that  I  want  nothing  from 
you,  but  to  know  you  and  pay  my  respects 
to  you  as  one  of  your  younger  kinsmen — 
possibly  your  nearest." 

"I  have  no  near  kinsmen,"  he  interrupted 
shortly.     "Those  I  had  I  found  a  little  less 
than  kin  and  a  good  deal  less  than  kind." 
147 


THE  LAND  OF  THE   SPIRIT 

"I  know  nothing  of  that.  I  have  never 
done  you  any  wrong,  except  to  intrude  to 
day,  as  you  say,  on  your  privacy,  and  I  ask 
your  pardon  for  that,  in  consideration  of  my 
real  desire  to  meet  you  and  be  friends  with 
the  only  male  relative  I  have  in  the  world." 

Again  he  gave  me  one  of  those  shrewd 
glances,  after  which  he  appeared  to  be  con 
sidering.  And  I  stood  waiting,  conjecturing 
what  his  reply  would  be  to  my  appeal. 

"Whose  son  did  you  say  you  were?"  he 
asked  at  length.  I  told  him  my  father's 
name,  and  that  of  his  father:  "Jedediah 
Hood." 

"Jed's  grandson,  eh!"  he  muttered,  and 
looked  me  over  from  under  his  bushy  eye 
brows.  "Why  didn't  they  name  you  after 
him?  Didn't  like  the  name,  I  guess;  means 
'Beloved  of  the  Lord/" 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  think  that  was  the  rea 
son.  They  preferred  yours." 

"Eh?" 

I  almost  thought  I  had  lost  my  chance, 
he  remained  so  long  in  reflection.     He,  how 
ever,  decided  in  my  favor. 
148 


THE  BIGOT 

"Wait  a  moment."  He  opened  the  door 
and  went  into  the  house,  closing  and  locking 
the  door  behind  him,  with  a  loud  grating  of 
the  key  in  the  huge  old  lock.  Again  I  felt 
that  my  visit  had  been  in  vain.  A  moment 
later,  however,  I  heard  his  voice  calling 
some  one,  and  in  a  little  while  the  key 
turned  in  the  lock  again,  the  door  opened, 
and  I  was  invited  in. 

The  entrance  was  a  narrow  back  hall, 
which  was  closed  at  the  far  end  by  a  door 
which  I  later  found  admitted  one  into  a 
somewhat  spacious  front  hall,  from  which  a 
pretty,  colonial  stairway  led  up  to  the  floor 
above.  We  did  not,  however,  now  pass  the 
further  door,  but  turned  off  from  the  first 
hall  by  a  little  passage,  past  what  was  evi 
dently  the  kitchen,  and  with  another  turn 
entered  a  sitting  and  living  room  in  the  back 
of  one  of  the  wings.  The  furniture  in  it  was 
meagre,  and  was  old  and  worn;  but  it  had 
once  been  handsome.  The  large  arm-chair, 
beside  the  table  near  one  of  the  windows, 
was,  like  the  table,  of  carved  mahogany  now 
black  with  age,  and  it  had  once  been  covered 

149 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

with  red  velvet,  though  only  portions  of  the 
upholstery  now  remained;  and  the  seat  was 
now  filled  with  old  papers  flattened  on  the 
broken,  crooked  springs.  A  few  time-faded 
prints  hung  on  the  walls,  among  them  por 
traits  of  Washington,  Jefferson,  Franklin, 
Samuel  Adams,  and  James  Otis;  also  an  old- 
fashioned  allegorical  tree  of  many  roots  and 
branches,  representing  the  Tree  of  Knowl 
edge,  with  a  serpent  curled  about  its  stem, 
and  the  Virtues  and  Vices — the  latter  in 
somewhat  undue  proportion — springing 
therefrom.  There  were  many  books,  gen 
erally  old,  in  a  bookcase  with  a  glass  front, 
and  lying  about  on  chairs,  or  piled  on  the 
boxes  in  the  corners.  On  the  table  lay  a 
large  old  Bible  worn  to  tatters.  An  old 
flint-lock  musket,  with  a  powder-horn  tied 
to  it,  hung  on  the  wall,  and  a  rapier  or  dress- 
sword  and  a  sabre  were  crossed  below  them. 
I  was  offered  the  arm-chair,  but,  of  course, 
took  another  one — the  only  other  in  the 
room. 

As  soon  as  we  entered  the  house  the  old 
man  became  the  host,  and  treated  me  with  a 
150 


THE  BIGOT 

graciousness  wholly  different  from  his  for 
mer  manner,  into  which  he  only  relapsed 
occasionally  when  reference  was  made  to 
his  past. 

After  his  apology  for  bringing  me  into 
such  an  untidy  apartment,  which  he  ex 
plained  by  saying,  "Old  age  has  few  wants, 
and  warmth  and  quietude  are  chief  among 
them,"  he  began  to  ask  me  a  few  questions 
as  to  my  family;  but  he  was  rarely  inter 
ested  enough  in  my  replies  to  make  any 
comment  on  them.  Once  he  said: 

"Did  your  father  ever  tell  you  why  he 
went  West?" 

I  knew  he  meant  my  grandfather,  of 
course;  but  I  replied: 

"No,  sir." 

He  gave  a  short  grunt. 

"We  quarrelled." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,  sir.  I  never  heard 
it." 

"No,  we  Hoods  were  always  close- 
mouthed." 

After  wondering  what  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel  was,  and  giving  him  a  chance  to 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

cast  light  on  it,  I  ventured  to  ask  him  what 
it  was  about. 

"About  Religion.  Bigotry,  cupidity,  and 
brutality  are  the  three  chief  causes  of  dis 
sension.  All  have  their  sources  in  selfish 


ness/5 


"Well,  there  isn't  religion  enough  to 
quarrel  about  now,"  I  said.  It  was  the  first 
thing  I  had  said  which  appeared  to  please 
him. 

"Quite  true,"  he  observed.  "As  far  as  I 
can  judge — for  I  never  go  out — you  are 
quite  right.  It  is  perishing  out  of  the  earth 
— slain  in  the  revolt  against  superstition  and 
bigotry. 

"What  church  do  you  belong  to?"  he 
suddenly  demanded.  I  told  him  that  I  had 
never  united  myself  with  any  church,  be 
cause  I  did  not  think  myself  good  enough  to 
do  so;  but  had  always  looked  forward  to 
joining  my  mother's  church,  which  was  the 
old  Established  Church. 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  were  quite 
good  enough  to  join  that  church  now,"  he 
said,  with  a  faint  gleam  of  humor  in  his 
152 


THE  BIGOT 


deep  eyes.     "You  cannot  be  a  very  wise 


man." 


"How  is  that ?" 

"Why,  as  you  are,  you  are  among  those 
judged — but  if  you  joined  the  church,  you 
would  be  among  the  judges." 

Wishing  to  get  off  the  subject  of  religion, 
which  appeared  to  engross  his  thoughts, 
and  to  learn  something  of  his  history,  I  grew 
bolder. 

"Why  did  you  never  marry?"  I  asked 
him  suddenly.  A  change  came  over  his 
face — his  whole  person,  I  might  say.  A 
flash  came  into  his  eye,  and  his  form  stif 
fened.  I  felt  that  I  had  made  a  mistake, 
and  was  about  to  try  to  rectify  it,  when  he 
said: 

"Did  they  never  tell  you?" 

"No,  sir,  not  a  word." 

"Well,  I  will,  if  you  have  the  patience 
to  listen. — Because  I  was  fool  enough  to  be 
honest — and  others  could  not  bear  the 
truth." 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  deeply  inter 
ested,  and  he  told  me  his  curious  story. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"I  was  your  father's  elder  brother"  (he 
always  spoke  of  my  grandfather  as  my 
father)  "and  as  such  I  came  into  possession 
of  this  estate  on  my  father's  death,  your 
father  receiving  his  portion  in  money  and 
other  property,  which  I  dare  say  he  soon 
squandered  in  riotous  living,  for  he  was  al 
ways  inclined  to  be  wild  and  light,  while  I, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  sober,  frugal,  re 
flective,  and  earnest.  As  the  property  was 
an  ample  one — more  than  ample — I  deter 
mined  to  secure  a  helpmate;  but  I  had  a  high 
ideal.  I  was  ambitious  to  preserve  an  an 
cient  and  honorable  name,  and  I  was  very 
proud — proud  of  my  position,  proud  of  my 
intellect,  proud  of  my  knowledge.  My 
opening  mind  had  discovered  that  this  little 
corner  of  the  world  was  a  very  small  and  nar 
row  corner,  and  that  men  had  been  shackled 
by  others  in  a  slavery  worse  than  African 
slavery — the  slavery  of  the  mind — but,  hav 
ing  been  born  in  this  slavery,  I  had  not  initi 
ative  to  break  my  bonds  and  declare  my 
freedom.  I  was  the  slave  of  John  Calvin 
and  his  offspring,  and,  while  I  could  not  at 


I  assured  him  that  I  was  deeply  interested,  and  he  told  me 
his  curious  story 


THE  BIGOT 

heart  subscribe  to  his  frightful  tenets,  I 
lived  bound  to  the  stake  he  had  planted,  and 
tortured  by  the  perpetual  fires  he  had 
kindled,  and  which  the  iron-divines  of  Pre- 
destinary  doctrine  had  blown  through  each 
succeeding  generation.  What  your  father 
and  others  like  him  took  lightly,  I  shrivelled 
before,  and  at  one  time  I  even  thought  of 
adopting  the  ministry  as  a  means  of  salva 
tion,  not  for  others,  but  for  my  miserable 
self. 

"I  was  saved  from  this  by  meeting  and 
becoming  enamoured  of  a  young  woman,  the 
daughter  of  one  of  our  leading  elders,  him 
self  a  stern  and  unbending  believer,  who 
would  sooner  have  been  damned  himself 
than  not  have  believed  that  others  would  be 
damned.  She  had  been  absent  at  an  acad 
emy  while  I  was  at  college,  and  about  the 
time  of  my  return  home  to  assume  my  du 
ties  as  my  father's  successor,  I  met  her,  for 
the  first  time  in  years.  I  had  known  her  in 
her  pretty  childhood  as  a  wild  young  hoiden 
with  gazelle-like  eyes.  But  she  had  fallen 
under  the  spell.  She  had  ripened  into  all 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

that  her  childhood  had  promised — and 
more — only  she  had  become  demure  and 
serious-minded  beyond  anything  that  could 
have  been  believed.  Her  sobriety,  however, 
simply  added  to  her  charms,  in  my  then 
state  of  mind,  and  I  fell  desperately  in  love 
with  her,  and  had  the  happiness  to  have  my 
passion  returned.  Gifted  with  intellect  far 
beyond  the  majority  of  her  sex,  she  inspired 
me  to  study  and  opened  up  to  me  new  vistas 
of  thought.  We  read  much  together,  and, 
as  Theology  was  the  chief  subject  in  those 
days,  we  studied  it  together,  but,  while  the 
more  we  read  the  stronger  grew  her  belief, 
the  stronger  grew  my  doubts — doubts  which 
I  hesitated  to  tell  her  of,  for  fear  of  impart 
ing  them  to  her  and  causing  her  some  of  the 
unhappiness  I  was  experiencing. 

"Wishing  to  see  something  of  the  outside 
world  before  settling  down,  and  also  desiring 
to  add  to  the  furnishing  of  my  home  in  a 
manner  suitable  to  my  means,  and  thus  tes 
tify  my  devotion  to  her,  for  she  was  poor, 
I  determined  to  visit  New  York.  In  those 
days  we  travelled  much  of  the  way  in  stage- 
156 


THE  BIGOT 

coaches,  and  I  spent  a  number  of  days  in 
company  with  a  fellow-passenger  who  made 
a  deep  impression  on  me.  He  was  a  divine 
so  different  from  any  one  that  I  had  ever 
hitherto  been  thrown  with,  that  he  at  once 
gained  both  my  confidence  and  my  affection. 
He  was  a  youngish  man,  with  a  gentle,  re 
fined  face  and  burning  eyes  such  as  I  never 
saw  equalled.  I  was  first  attracted  to  him 
by  his  tenderness  to  a  bereaved  mother  who 
happened  to  be  a  fellow-passenger  with  us 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  journey,  and  who 
was  in  her  first  paroxysm  of  desolation  over 
the  death  of  her  only  child.  His  sympathy 
drew  from  her  not  only  an  account  of  her 
bereavement,  but  the  secret  of  her  incon 
solable  anguish.  A  preacher  to  whom  she 
had  applied  for  consolation  had  told  her 
that  there  were  '  infants  in  hell  a  span  long, 
predestined  to  damnation/  and  in  her  agony 
she  had  conceived  the  idea  that  her  child 
might  be  among  them.  Her  reason  had  be 
come  almost  dethroned. 

"'Madam,'  said  our  clergyman,  "the  man 
who  told  you  that  was  not  only  a  brute  and 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

an  idiot,  but  was  a  blasphemous  brute  and 
idiot.  That  man  was  not  teaching  from 
the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ — who  likened  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  to  a  little  child — but 
from  his  own  hardened  heart/  And  then 
he  began  to  expound  to  her — I  ask  his  par 
don  in  heaven,  where  he  now  is — I  mean  he 
began  to  talk  to  her  of  the  love  of  God,  of 
his  tenderness  and  loving  care,  in  a  way 
which  not  only  soothed  her  and  brought  her 
peace,  but  calmed  the  storm  which  had  so 
long  been  raging  in  my  breast. 

"I  sought  the  first  opportunity  to  open 
my  heart  to  him,  and  he  at  once  began  to 
remove  my  doubts — preaching,  and  proving 
from  the  Bible,  a  gospel  so  widely  different 
from  the  decrees  of  wrath  that  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  hear  pronounced  from  the 
pulpit,  that,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I 
began  to  get  an  idea  of  God's  goodness  and 
fatherhood,  and  that  night  I  prayed  in  hu 
mility  and  love,  and  not  in  rage  and  fear. 

"He  dealt  with  my  questionings  as  to 
Adam's  fall,  Predestined  damnation,  certain 
miracles,  and  Literal  Inspiration  in  so  con- 
158 


THE  BIGOT 

elusive  a  manner  that  I  wondered  I  had  not 
comprehended  it  before,  only  my  mind  had 
been  blinded  by  the  false  prophets  of  wrath. 
He  repudiated  Literal  Inspiration  as  unrea 
sonable;  but  accepted  Plenary  Inspiration 
as  consonant  with  reason.  Christ's  work,  he 
declared,  was  not  in  the  least  dependent  on 
miracles,  nor  was  it  taught  in  the  Bible  that 
Salvation  depended  on  belief  in  miracles. 
Yet  His  greatest  miracle  was  not  raising 
Lazarus  from  the  dead,  but  raising  a  dead 
world  from  corruption  and  sin.  Salvation 
was  a  matter  of  the  heart,  not  of  the  head. 
Christ's  death  and  passion  were  not  needed 
to  reconcile  God  to  man,  but  to  bring  men  to 
God.  God  was  Love,  and  his  justice  was 
not  what  hard  men  had  distorted  it  into; 
but  was  tempered  by  the  infinite  pity  of  an 
infinitely  wise  and  compassionate  Father, 
who  pitied  his  children,  knew  their  infirmi 
ties,  and  remembered  that  they  were  but 
dust. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

II 

"I  RETURNED  home  sooner  than  I  had  in 
tended.  So  relieved  was  I  by  the  teaching  of 
my  new  evangel  that  I  was  eager  to  impart 
it  to  my  betrothed.  I  only  remained  long 
enough  to  forward  the  new  furniture  for  our 
home,  which  I  had  purchased  in  New  York 
with  the  joy  of  one  who  feels  that  he  is  ren 
dering  homage  to  the  most  beautiful  and 
perfect  of  God's  creatures. 

"The  evening  I  arrived  was  prayer-meet 
ing  evening,  and  I  never  attended  a  divine 
service  with  such  a  feeling  of  joy  and  rever 
ence  as  that.  Every  one,  of  course,  at 
tended,  and  Miss ,  my  betrothed,  was 

the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  as  we  entered  to 
gether;  for  I  had  arrived  only  in  time  to  call 
for  her  and  have  a  blissful  ten  minutes  be 
fore  leaving  for  church,  in  which  I  placed 
on  her  hand  the  jewel  I  had  got  in  New  York 
to  celebrate  our  engagement.  She  informed 
me  that  it  had  been  decided  to  appoint  me 
an  elder  in  place  of  an  old  man  who  had  just 
died  and  that  I  had  received  every  vote  but 
160 


THE  BIGOT 

one,  that  of  a  man  named  Wynne, — who 
was  a  distant  relative  of  some  kind, — and 
whose  son  had  been  an  unsuccessful  suitor 
of  Hilda  Morrison's.  The  devotional  part 
of  the  services  I  participated  in  with  more 
fervor  than  I  had  ever  done  before;  for  my 
heart  was  filled  with  thankfulness,  and  I 
could  listen  without  a  tremor  to  the  man- 
imagined  wrath  of  a  man-imagined  Deity. 
I  only  awaited  an  opportunity  to  explain  to 
my  betrothed  the  happy  change  in  my  con 
dition. 

"I  had  not  long  to  wait.  It  was  the  cus 
tom  among  us  then  for  different  men  to  be 
called  on  to  speak  in  the  meeting,  and,  by  a 
sort  of  common  consent,  it  appeared,  it  had 
been  determined  to  call  on  me  and  ask  me 
to  give  a  sort  of  account  of  my  trip  and  its 
necessarily  novel  experiences.  Accordingly, 
when  the  regular  devotional  exercises  were 
concluded,  the  pastor  called  attention  to  the 
fact  that  I  had  just  returned  from  distant 
parts,  and  that  it  was  greatly  desired  by  my 
friends  and  fellow-citizens  that  I  should  give 
them  some  account  of  my  experiences  during 
161 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

my  travels,  and  particularly  any  new  spirit 
ual  experiences  I  might  have  had. 

"Encouraged  by  a  smile  from  my  be 
trothed,  I  rose  and  gave  them  a  general 
outline  of  my  travels,  with  an  episode  or 
two  which  they  appeared  to  consider  suffi 
ciently  diverting,  and  then  I  started  to  take 
my  seat;  but  I  was  again  interrogated  as 
to  whether  I  had  heard  any  of  the  great 
preachers,  and,  if  so,  as  to  my  opinion 
of  them.  I  replied  that,  while  I  had 
heard  a  number  of  them,  the  man  who  had 
made  most  impression  on  me  was  a  fel 
low-traveller,  and  I  proceeded  to  relate  my 
experience  with  my  friend  and  the  effect  of 
his  teaching  on  my  views. 

"  Borne  on  by  my  feelings,  I  made  a  com 
plete  confession  of  my  questionings — of  the 
slough  of  despond  into  which  I  had  sunk, 
and  of  my  providential  escape  therefrom, 
with  the  joy  and  peace  that  I  had  since  been 
conscious  of.  I  spoke  well,  I  know,  for  I 
spoke  from  my  heart. 

"If  you  can  imagine  a  snow-fall  in  the 
midst  of  summer  warmth,  you  will  get  a 
162 


THE  BIGOT 

faint  idea  of  the  reception  of  my  words. 
First  a  dead  silence  fell  on  them,  and  then  a 
murmur  of  such  disapprobation  and  hos 
tility  as  might  have  greeted  me  had  I 
preached  a  universal  and  horrifying  dam 
nation  instead  of  the  unspeakable  mercies 
of  a  compassionate  and  all-wise  Father.  I 
sat  down  and  looked  around,  to  encounter 
only  an  appalled  and  appalling  horror.  I 
looked  at  my  betrothed.  She  was  as  pale 
as  though  I  had  confessed  to  some  terrible 
crime,  and  sat  with  trembling  eyelids  and 
white  lips,  overwhelmed  with  consternation. 
The  congregation  rose  in  icy  silence.  The 
elders,  by  a  tacit  consent,  drew  together 
and,  after  a  word  or  two,  they  gathered 
about  the  preacher  and  moved  toward  his 
room  back  of  the  pulpit,  one  of  them  turning 
at  the  door  and  saying  solemnly  that  I  was 
desired  to  wait  a  few  moments  in  the  church. 
I  had  not  known  till  then  how  grave  was  my 
situation,  but  I  felt  relieved  that  I  had  un 
burdened  my  soul.  I  had  spoken  the  truth, 
and  I  was  ready  to  abide  the  consequences, 
however  serious  they  might  be.  A  few  of 
163 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

the  congregation  also  remained,  grim,  aloof, 
and  silent. 

"In  a  few  moments  the  door  of  the  room 
where  the  elders  were  in  session  opened,  and 
one  of  my  judges  desired  my  attendance.  I 
walked  in  and  knew  instantly  that  my  sen 
tence  had  been  passed,  and  that  nothing  I 
could  say  would  avail. 

"'Mr.  Hood/  said  the  preacher,  with  an 
accent  of  doom,  'it  is  not  necessary  after 
your  voluntary  and  appalling  confession 
this  evening  for  us  to  state  the  grounds 
of  our  action.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
you  can  no  longer  remain  connected  with 
this  church,  which  is  a  church  of  God. 
Your  removal,  immediate  and  final,  has 
been  unanimously  decided  on  by  us.'  He 
was  here  interrupted  by  one  of  the  elders,  a 
stony-faced  individual  by  the  name  of 
Wynne,  with  two  steely  eyes  drilled  above 
his  hatchet  nose.  He  objected  to  the  word 
'removal5  as  being  too  mild.  The  word  he 
had  written  in  the  resolution  was,  he  de 
clared,  'expulsion/  This  was  agreed  on, 
and,  with  a  bow,  I  walked  out. 
164 


THE  BIGOT 

"In  my  new-found  happiness  I  was  not 
even  then  wholly  overthrown.  I  was  able 
to  thank  God  that  I  felt  no  rancor  toward 
them.  I  simply  pitied  them  for  their  blind 
ness,  and  I  looked  forward  to  the  happiness 
of  my  home,  chastened  by  a  sense  of  my 
own  unworthiness,  but  sustained  by  the 
sympathy  and  confidence  of  my  wife. 
While  cast  down,  therefore,  I  was  far  from 
destroyed. 

"When  I  walked  out,  my  betrothed  was 
sitting  as  I  had  left  her,  and  when  I  ap 
proached  her  she  rose  and  joined  me  without 
a  word,  and  we  left  the  church  together.  At 
the  threshold  I  offered  her  my  arm,  and  she 
laid  her  hand  lightly  on  it,  but  the  touch, 
light  as  it  was,  thrilled  me.  The  night  was 
dark,  but  I  did  not  take  note  of  it  till  later. 
Her  presence  was  light  enough  for  me.  For 
a  time  she  was  silent,  as  I  was ;  but  presently 
she  asked  me  quietly  what  had  occurred 
when  I  was  called  before  the  elders.  I  told 
her  that  I  had  been  turned  out  of  the  church. 
She  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  horror,  but, 
beyond  her  'Oh!'  she  made  no  comment, 
165 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

and  we  walked  on  in  silence.  After  a  few 
moments  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  my 
arm  and  walked  a  little  further  apart  from 
me.  I  observed  it  with  a  certain  pang,  but 
as  she  was  engaged  in  removing  her  glove,  I 
made  no  remark  upon  it.  We  had  by  this 
time  reached  her  father's  door,  and  she 
stopped,  as  I  thought,  to  express  her  pent-up 
sympathy,  but  instead,  she  held  her  hand 
out  to  me. 

'  '  I  want  to  restore  this  to  you,'  she  said, 
in  a  calm  tone. 

"  'What  is  it?'  I  held  out  my  hand,  and 
she  placed  in  it  our  engagement  ring,  the 
jewel  I  had  placed  on  her  finger  but  a  few 
hours  before,  with  a  renewal  of  our  vows  of 
life-long  confidence  and  devotion. 

"  'If  you  have  been  turned  out  of  the 
church,  I  cannot  marry  you.' 

"I  was  so  overwhelmed  that  all  I  could 
say  was,  'Do  you  mean  it,  Hilda?' 

"  'I  do,  Abner,'  she  said. 

"  'Have  you  reflected  on  it,  Hilda?' 

"'I  have,  Abner.' 

"'Is  this  irrevocable,  Hilda?' 
166 


THE  BIGOT 

"  'Itis,  Abner.' 

"  'Then  good-by,  Hilda/  I  said. 

"  'Good-by,  Abner/  she  replied. 

"I  turned  and  came  away.  It  was  only 
when  I  stumbled  at  the  gate  that  I  remarked 
how  dark  the  night  was.  As  I  climbed  the 
hill,  the  church-clock  tolled  the  midnight 
hour.  I  have  never  heard  it  since  without 
feeling  my  heart  crushed  anew  beneath  its 
iron  hammer. 

"Since  that  hour  I  have  lived  in  exile — 
the  exile  of  the  heart. 

"Now  you  know  why  I  never  married," 
he  said,  grimly,  after  a  silence  in  which  he 
had  been  reflecting  on  his  strange  past,  while 
I  watched  him  with  a  new  tenderness  for  the 
lonely  old  man  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to  a 
cruel  bigotry  burnt  into  his  blood. 

He  began  to  speak  again. 

"  For  a  time  I  thought  that  possibly  she 
might  relent;  but  I  did  not  know  the  un 
fathomable  depth  of  bigotry — and  when 
no  sign  came,  I  shut  myself  up  and  gradu 
ally  withdrew  from  all  association  with 


men." 


167 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"But  did  you  never  see  her  again?"  I 
asked. 

"Certainly  not." 

"What  became  of  her,  sir?" 

He  paused  a  moment  before  he  replied. 
Then  he  said  grimly: 

"I  never  inquired." 

"How  have  you  lived?" 

"Oh!  very  well — sufficiently  well.  I  had 
an  old  man  to  look  after  me,  and  when  he 
died  his  son  took  his  place,  and  I  suppose 
when  he  goes  I  shan't  need  another.  Years 
ago  certain  persons  claiming  to  be  my  kin 
undertook  to  try  to  regulate  my  affairs;  but 
I  soon  shut  them  off.  Your  father  was  one 
of  them.  I  imagine  he  meant  well ;  but  I 
wished  to  forget  mankind  as  they  had  for 
gotten  me.  Since  then  I  have  never  gazed 
voluntarily  on  a  woman's  face.  I  have  not 
seen  a  man,  until  you  came  to-day,  in  I  do 
not  know  how  many  years — twenty  perhaps, 
and  I  do  not  know  why  I  permitted  you  to 
come  in,  unless  it  be  that  I  am  getting  in  my 
dotage.  Possibly,  your  name  or  something 
about  you  reminded  me  of  a  time  that  I  had 
168 


THE  BIGOT 

thought  almost  obliterated  from  my  mem 
ory." 

"But,"  I  said,  coming  back  to  the  main 
cause  of  his  embitterment,  as  I  thought, 
"you  know  the  world  has  moved.  Many 
now  go  much  beyond  what  you  declared 
as  your  conviction." 

"No  doubt.  I  have  seen  as  much  inti 
mated,"  he  said  dryly.  "In  the  reaction 
they  have  come  to  believe  nothing.  But  I 
believe."  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  old  tat 
tered  book  on  his  table.  "I  cannot  but  be 
lieve.  It  alone  has  sustained  me." 

"What  did  my  grand — "  (I  hesitated) 
"father  do?  Did  he  take  sides  against 
you?" 

"No.  He  wished  me  to  yield  my  princi 
ples — to  make  overtures  to — however,  it  is 
so  long  ago  now,  it  is  of  no  use  to  open  that 
long-sealed  past.  He  took  life  more  lightly. 
He  did  not  know  how  deep  was  my  wound." 
He  drifted  off  into  reflection  for  a  few  mo 
ments. 

"Where  did  you  say  you  lived  ?"  he  asked 
suddenly.     I  told  him. 
169 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Write  it  down."  I  did  so,  signing  my 
name  — "  Abner  Hood,  Jr." 

"If  you  come  this  way  again  next  year, 
you  may  come  and  see  me."  He  rose. 

Seeing  that  my  visit  had  been  ended  by 
him,  I  thanked  him  and  took  my  leave,  and, 
as  I  shook  hands  with  him  at  his  door,  I 
felt  again  that  sudden  tenderness  for  the  old 
man  that  I  had  felt  once  or  twice  before 
during  the  interview. 

"Good-by,  uncle,"  I  said,  as  I  held  his 
withered  and  wrinkled  old  hand,  with  its 
high  veins  and  thick  brown  freckles,  and 
laid  my  other  hand  on  it.  "If  you  ever 
want  me  or  want  anything  done  that  I  can 
do  for  you,  telegraph  me  and  I'll  come  im 
mediately." 

"Good-by.  I  hardly  think  I  shall  want 
anything.  I  have  passed  wanting." 

As  I  forced  my  way  back  through  the 
tangled  thickets,  I  made  my  plan  to  leave  at 
once,  so  as  to  escape  the  questioning  of  my 
driver  or  of  the  host  at  Simpson's.  And  so  I 
did.  I  kept  my  room  under  plea  of  fatigue, 
and  then,  having  paid  my  bill,  took  my  bag 
170 


THE  BIGOT 

I 

and  walked  down  to  meet  the  night-train. 
It  was  late,  owing  to  an  accident,  and,  as  I 
waited,  I  heard  the  village  clock  toll  sullenly 
the  same  midnight  hour  to  which  my  lonely 
old  kinsman  had  listened  so  often. 

Some  months  later,  in  the  spring,  I  re 
ceived  a  despatch  signed  "Simon  Morse," 
announcing  the  death  of  the  old  man. 
Without  waiting  to  procure  a  black  suit,  I 
took  the  first  train  for  the  East,  and  went 
to  W.  There  I  learned  that  the  old  hermit 
had  passed  away  three  days  before,  and  was 
to  be  buried  that  afternoon,  apparently  with 
much  pomp.  The  town  was  full  of  excite 
ment  over  the  event.  The  difficulty  of  ac 
cess  to  the  place,  the  mystery  connected 
with  his  life,  and  other  circumstances  com 
bined,  had  started  a  hundred  different  sto 
ries  as  to  the  old  man's  rigorous  seclusion, 
varying  all  the  way  from  madness  over  a 
broken-off  love-affair  to  the  commission  of 
some  heinous  crime.  It  was  said  generally 
that  he  had  died  without  a  will,  and  that  his 
nearest  heirs  were  the  not  very  near  cousins 
in  the  village,  with  whom  he  had  always 
been  on  bad  terms. 

171 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

I  made  my  way  up  the  hill  by  a  winding 
track  which  the  supposed  nearest  of  kin  had 
had  made  for  the  occasion  through  the 
thickets  which  had  so  long  filled  the 
grounds. 

As  I  passed  the  church  in  its  bare  lot,  I 
observed  that  many  flowers  and  plants  were 
being  carried  in  from  a  fine  florist's  wagon 
with  the  name  of  a  neighboring  town  on  it 
in  flaring  letters,  and  that  a  grave  had  been 
dug  in  a  lot  near  the  door. 

On  arrival  at  the  house,  I  found  the  front 
entrance,  closed  for  so  many  years,  opened, 
and  quite  a  concourse  of  vehicles  and  people, 
drawn  by  curiosity,  gathered  in  the  grounds. 
Having  asked  one  of  the  men,  apparently 
busy  about  the  funeral,  where  I  might  find 
the  deceased's  old  attendant,  I  received  in 
reply  a  solemn  and  silent  wave  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  door;  so  I  entered  to  make  my 
way  back  in  the  direction  of  the  old  man's 
living  apartment,  where  I  had  visited  him. 
I  was  surprised  to  discover  what  a  hand 
some  house  it  was.  Though  sombre  and 
musty  and  dusty  from  being  so  long  closed, 
the  hall  and  the  apartments  opening  on  it 
172 


THE  BIGOT 

were  handsome,  and  the  hall,  with  its  beau 
tiful  cornice  and  tasteful  old  stairway,  was 
distinguished.  A  number  of  old  paintings 
hung  on  the  walls,  all  draped,  however,  in 
coverings  gray  and  brown  with  dust  and 
cobwebs.  The  carpets  on  the  floors  were 
soft  with  the  dust  upon  them.  The  walls 
were  scarred  and  streaked  with  the  damp 
and  mould  of  many  years,  and  the  ceiling 
had  fallen  in  places  where  the  rain  and 
melted  snow  had  soaked  in  from  some  rotted 
section  of  the  roof. 

I  made  my  way  back  to  the  rear,  and  dis 
covered  that  the  old  man's  apartment  was 
the  scene  of  considerable  bustle.  It  was 
filled  with  a  party  of,  perhaps,  half  a  dozen 
or  more  elderly  men  and  women,  dressed  in 
black,  and  very  busy  examining  the  papers 
and  rubbish  taken  from  the  desk  and  boxes 
which  stood  open  about  the  room.  As  I 
opened  the  door  without  knocking — mani 
festly  to  their  great  surprise — they  had  had 
no  time  to  desist  from  their  occupation.  I 
was  asked  somewhat  shortly  what  I  wanted, 
and  explained  that  I  was  looking  for  Mr. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

Hood's  old  attendant,  whom,  I  had  been 
told,  I  might  find  there. 

"He  is  somewhere  outside,"  said  one  of 
the  women,  with  a  wave,  as  she  returned  to 
her  work,  while  another  one  added : 

"This  room  is  reserved  for  the  family." 

With  an  apology,  I  withdrew,  and  before 
long  came  on  an  old  fellow  dressed  in  a  long- 
tailed  coat  and  a  very  ancient  high  hat,  who, 
though  not  displaying  many  signs  of  mourn 
ing  in  his  raiment,  showed  so  much  real  sor 
row  in  his  face  that  I  instantly  picked  him 
out. 

"Are  you  the  old  gentleman's  attend 
ant?"  I  asked. 

"I  be,"  he  said;  "leastways,  I  was  till  two 
days  ago." 

I  knew  by  his  expression  and  tone  what 
he  meant. 

"I  want  to  see  you  outside."  He  gave 
me  a  swift  look,  and  with  a  quick  glance 
around,  signed  to  me  to  precede  him.  At 
the  silent  sign  from  him,  I  walked  on,  and 
he  followed  me  outside  to  the  back,  where 
I  had  first  seen  the  old  recluse  strolling  up 


THE  BIGOT 

and  down  in  the  evening  sunlight.  Here, 
without  apparently  looking  at  me,  he  made 
a  sign  in  the  direction  of  the  shrubbery, 
and  I  walked  on,  he  moving  obliquely,  as 
though  going  in  another  direction,  but, 
once  in  the  screen  of  the  thickets,  he  joined 
me. 

"Be  you  Abner,  Jr?"  he  asked  briefly, 
and  on  my  nodding  assent  he  added  dryly: 
"I  been  expectin'  you." 

He  then  told  me  the  story  of  the  old  man's 
last  hours.  He  had  been  as  well  as  usual— 
"He  had  taken  to  talkin'  of  you  a  mite," 
said  he,  "and  was  lookin'  forward  to  your 
comin'  back.  He  said  he  allowed  he  was 
gittin'  in  his  dotage.  That  was  only  the 
night  before.  That  night  he  was  readin' 
his  Bible  till  late — I  saw  the  light  under  his 
door.  Here  is  something  for  you."  He 
took  from  his  inside  pocket,  with  great  de 
liberation,  a  letter,  carefully  sealed,  and  ad 
dressed  in  a  tremulous,  but  still  strong  hand 
to  "Abner  Hood,  Jr.,  Esquire." 

"Is  this  his  handwriting?"  I  inquired. 

"It  be — every  word — he  wrote  it  the  day 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

before  he  was  taken — that  is,  he  copied  it 
off  fair  that  day.  He'd  been  a-workin'  at  it 
on  and  off  for  some  time  before.  He  was 
particular  abaout  where  he  was  to  be  buried 
— said  he  didn't  want  to  lie  in  the  shadow 
of  that  church." 

I  opened  the  packet  and  found  it  to  con 
tain,  as  I  had  conjectured,  a  will,  wholly 
written  with  the  old  gentleman's  own  hand, 
and  in  the  quaint  phraseology  of  the  past. 

After  declaring  his  abiding  belief  in  God, 
"Who  alone  judgeth  the  hearts  of  men," 
and  committing  his  soul  to  His  infinite 
mercy,  he  directed  that  all  debts,  if  there 
were  any,  should  be  paid ;  that  his  faithful 
attendant,  Simon  Morse,  should  have  the 
privilege  of  living  on  the  place  during  his  life 
free  of  rent  and  should  be  paid  an  annuity 
of  several  hundred  dollars  a  year;  that  I 
should  have  the  house  with  all  it  contained, 
and  so  much  ground  as  I  might,  in  my  un 
fettered  judgment,  deem  necessary  to  sup 
port  it,  and  that  all  the  rest  and  residue  of 
his  property  should  be  divided  into  two  equal 
shares  one  of  which  was  to  be  mine  abso- 
176 


THE  BIGOT 

lutely  and  in  fee  simple,  and  the  other  was 
to  be  applied  by  me  to  such  charitable 
objects  as  I  might  select,  including  alike 
individual  cases  and  public  charities,  I  to 
be  the  sole  judge  of  the  proper  beneficiaries, 
and  not  to  be  called  to  account  for  any 
acts  of  mine  in  connection  therewith  by 
any  person  except  God.  The  only  con 
ditions  were  that  I  was  not  to  give  in  aid 
of  bigotry  or  superstition,  and  that  I  was 
to  see  that  he  was  decently  and  privately 
buried  on  his  own  land,  on  the  hillside 
facing  the  east  and  overlooking  the  village 
of  W.  And,  finally,  I  was  left  residuary 
legatee  and  sole  executor  of  the  will. 

"It's  all  right,  ain't  it?"  demanded  the 
old  attendant. 

"I  think  so;  but,  at  any  rate,  I  am  his 
next-of-kin  and  his  heir." 

His  eyes  gave  a  snap  of  satisfaction,  and 
something  like  the  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"Now,  we'll  bury  him  as  he  said,"  he  said 
briefly. 

"We  will,"  I  nodded.  "We'll  carry  out 
177 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

his  wishes  to  the  letter.  But  we  shall  have 
to  get  the  grave  dug." 

"It's  all  ready,"  he  said.  "I  dug  it  my 
self  last  night,  and  just  covered  it  over  with 
boughs  so  they  wouldn't  know.  You  see,  I 
thought  you'd  come." 

"I  wish  I  had  come  before,"  I  exclaimed, 
thinking  of  the  old  fellow's  loneliness. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  reflected  Simon. 
"He  didn't  like  folks  araound  much.  'Pears 
like  they  pestered  him." 

"  But  I  feel  sure  he  would  have  seen  me." 

"Maybe  so.  He  might.  He  talked  of 
you  considerable.  But  it  appeared  to  stir 
him  up  some.  He  allowed  he  was  gittin'  in 
his  dotage.  'Twas  next  mornin'  after  writ- 
in'  his  will  he  had  a  stroke." 

"The  very  next  morning!" 

Simon  nodded  with  conviction. 

"The  very  nex'  mornin'.  He  was  set- 
tin'  in  his  cheer  when  I  went  in — speechless 
—and  I  seen  at  onct  he  had  a  stroke.  He 
was  still  reasonable,  and  I  made  out  he 
wanted  me  to  send  for  some  one.  I  thought 
first  'twas  the  doctor,  but  he  shook  his  head. 
178 


THE  BIGOT 

Oh,  he  was  reasonable  enough!  When  I 
thought  o'  you,  he  nodded  his  head — so." 
(The  old  chap  nodded  so  violently  that  he 
shook  his  hat  off,  which  apparently  caused 
him  much  concern.  When  he  had  brushed 
and  replaced  it,  he  proceeded:)  "Well,  he 
didn't  live  long.  He  went  so  fast  I  couldn't 
leave  him  to  call  for  anybody — and  'twas 
just  as  well,  I  guess;  they'd  'a'  pestered  him, 
and  he  didn't  want  'em.  Soon  as  he  was 
gone,  I  went  down  and  notified  'em,  and 
they  come  like  ravens.  I  never  see  sich 
grief!  'Twas  most  ridiculous.  They  turned 
the  house  inside  out."  (I  could  not  help 
smiling  inwardly  at  the  old  fellow's  idea  of 
"inside  out.")  "At  first  I  was  like  their 
long-lost  brother.  I  had  'done  so  much  for 
him — had  been  like  his  own  son.  Did  I  know 
of  any  will  ?  Did  I  know  whether  he  had 
any  other  kinfolks  ? ' — and  a  hundred  other 
things.  Well,  I've  told  so  many  lies  in  my 
time,  't  I  thought  a  lie  or  two  more  wouldn't 
make  no  difference,  so  I  told  'em  he  was 
always  so  close-mouthed  they  wouldn't  be 
lieve  it,  and  if  he  had  any  other  kinfolks  I 
179 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

guess  they'd  'a'  tried  to  hunt  him  up  and 
save  his  property,  if  not  his  soul.  And  then 
you'd  ought  to  seen  'em  change.  They  no 
sooner  thought  that  they  was  safe  than 
'Poor  Simon'  was  the  dirt  under  their  feet. 
They  ordered  me  araound's  if  I  was  their 
slave,  and  never  had  been  no  emancipation 
proclamation,  nuther.  They  been  peerin' 
and  speerin'  everywheres  till  it's  scandalous, 
and  they  been  a-hintin'  that  they  more  than 
suspicionate  as  how  I  have  stole  all  the  old 
man's  money  and  silver. — But  sich  as  there 
is,  is  in  a  box  in  the  hole  on  the  inside  of  the 
big  square  chimney  and  the  key  is  in  the 
secret  drawer  at  the  back  of  his  desk.  And 
now  I  guess  you  know  what  to  do?" 

"I  guess  I  do,  Simon,"  said  I,  "and  first 
I  want  to  say  to  you  that  whatever  happens 
you  may  live  where  you  like  and  do  as  you 
like,  and  you  will  be  made  comfortable." 

"I  should  like  to  live  here,"  said  Simon, 
"and  look  after  his  grave  and  the  grass  plot 
and  the  caow." 

"You  shall  do  it,"  I  said,  and  we  walked 
back  to  the  house  by  different  ways. 
180 


THE  BIGOT 

I  walked  in  once  more  at  the  front,  and, 
finding  the  door  of  one  of  the  rooms  open 
which  had  been  closed  when  I  passed 
through  before,  I  entered  the  room,  which 
proved  to  be  the  old  drawing-room,  and 
found  the  body  laid  out  there  in  a  coffin, 
which,  with  its  plated  ware,  appeared  not 
only  handsome,  but  almost  gay.  The  glass 
portion  of  the  top  was  open,  and  an  impor 
tant-looking  undertaker  was  standing  near 
by,  completely  absorbed  in  admiration  of 
the  company  that  were  now  assembling. 
As  I  gazed  on  the  old  man's  form,  lying  so 
placidly  and  with  a  certain  high  scorn  on  his 
marble  face,  I  could  not  help  the  tears  well 
ing  up  in  my  eyes  at  the  thought  of  the  long 
suffering  he  had  endured  at  the  hands  of 
unbending  bigotry — his  own  no  less  than 
that  of  others. 

I  passed  on  to  the  back  apartment,  and 
this  time  entered,  followed  after  a  minute 
by  Simon,  who  had  been  awaiting  me.  I 
found  the  family  sitting  portentously  in 
their  chairs,  their  black  gloves  on  and  long 
veils  ready  to  be  lowered.  Again  they  stared 
at  me,  and  more  than  one  informed  me  in 
181 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

a  low  but  positive  tone  that  this  room  was 
"reserved  for  the  family."  But  as  I  en 
tered  and  appeared  somewhat  at  home,  I 
observed  looks  of  some  disquietude  ex 
changed  among  them. 

Finally,  as  I  still  remained  somewhat 
stolidly  gazing  about  me,  two  of  the  women 
rose,  and,  going  over  to  the  eldest  of  the 
party,  held  a  whispered  colloquy,  of  which 
I  was  evidently  the  subject.  At  length  the 
latter  walked  over  toward  me  and  said : 

"I  guess  you  have  made  a  mistake.  Per 
haps  you  didn't  understand  that  this  was 
the  decedent's  private  apartment  and  has 
been  reserved  for  his  folks  till  time  for  the 
funeral." 

"I  know,"  I  said;  "but  I  am  one  of  his 
kin." 

"Ah!  What  I  mean  is,  his  near  kins 
folks:  you  are  hardly  one  of  them."  He 
was  looking  at  my  gray  suit,  of  which  I 
suddenly  became  conscious.  His  tone  had 
grown  irritated,  and  I  made  no  reply,  which 
appeared,  from  their  nods,  to  encourage 
them  all. 

"  Did  he  leave  no  will  ? "  I  asked  presently. 
182 


THE   BIGOT 

"He  did  not." 

"That  he  didn't,"  exclaimed  all  the 
women  sharply,  in  a  chorus. 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  withdraw," 
said  the  elder  of  the  men,  assuming  a  very 
imperative  tone,  "as  your  questions  and 
your  presence  are  offensive  to  these  ladies. 
If  you  do  not — Go  and  ask  David  Mallow  to 
come  here."  He  addressed  old  Simon  over 
my  shoulder. 

"Who  is  he?"  I  asked,  turning  to  Simon. 

"The  constable — the  taown-officer." 

"Well,  I  have  no  intention  or  desire  to  be 
offensive  to  these  ladies,  or  to  you  either,"  I 
said ;  "  so  I  am  going.  But  before  I  go,  I 
want  to  explain  to  you  that  Mr.  Hood  did 
leave  a  will."  It  was  like  a  bomb  to  them. 

"Left  a  will!  I  don't  believe  it!"  ex 
claimed  more  than  one  of  them,  rising  in  a 
flutter,  aghast  at  the  announcement.  The 
spokesman,  however,  waved  silence. 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  demanded,  sar 
castically.  "I  have  proof  positive  that  he 
did  not  leave  a  will."  He  nodded  in  the 
direction  of  Simon. 

183 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Because  I  have  it,  and  I  am  the  execu 
tor,  and,  what  is  more,  I  am  his  next  of  kin." 
I  opened  the  door  and  walked  out,  followed 
by  Simon,  who  remained  only  long  enough 
to  answer  one  question.  Before  he  closed 
the  door  I  heard  my  name  repeated,  "  Abner 
Hood,  Jr.!"  in  some  consternation. 

I  passed  forward  to  the  front  of  the 
house,  and,  seeing  the  clergyman  there,  I 
drew  him  aside  and  apprised  him  of  my 
uncle's  selection  of  the  spot  for  his  grave, 
and,  having  satisfied  him  by  showing  him 
the  will,  I  requested  him  to  make  the  neces 
sary  arrangements  as  to  the  change  in  the 
plans.  This  he  civilly  undertook  to  do,  and 
when  I  went  back  a  half-hour  later,  after 
seeing  the  grave,  I  found  everything  ready 
for  the  interment,  in  accord  with  my  uncle's 
wishes.  The  "family"  were  seated  in  the 
drawing-room,  at  the  head  of  the  casket, 
the  ladies  with  their  veils  now  drawn  close 
enough,  and,  as  I  did  not  wish  to  be  of 
fensive  to  them,  I  kept  outside  by  the 
door. 

The  old  custom  of  passing  around  to  view 
184 


THE  BIGOT 

the  remains  before  the  coffin  was  closed 
was  still  observed  there,  and,  though  I  had 
thought  of  stopping  it,  I  yielded  to  the 
clergyman's  suggestion  that  I  permit  it, 
and  I  was  glad  afterward  that  I  did.  The 
throng  that  passed  around  was,  it  is  true, 
led  to  it  only  by  curiosity.  But  at  the  very 
end  a  little  old  figure  in  dingy  black,  with  a 
faded  dark  veil,  appeared  in  the  line.  I  had 
observed  her  as  she  climbed  painfully  up  the 
hill  a  short  time  before,  her  figure  very  bent, 
and  her  step  very  slow  and  painful.  She 
had  remained  in  the  background  in  a  corner 
till  the  last.  Then  she  came  forward.  She 
paused  a  moment  at  the  side  of  the  coffin 
to  raise  her  veil,  that  she  might  get  a  look  at 
the  face,  and  my  heart  hardened  as  I 
thought  of  the  curiosity  that  would  lead 
even  so  old  a  woman,  at  such  pains,  to  gaze 
on  a  corpse;  but  suddenly  she  drew  from  the 
folds  of  her  dress  a  little  bunch  of  crumpled 
flowers,  and  laid  them  tenderly  on  the  dead 
man's  bosom,  and,  bending  over  the  body  as 
though  to  redraw  her  veil,  she  tremblingly 
touched  her  wrinkled  hand  softly  to  his  cold 
185 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

brow,  and  I  saw  some  tears  dropping 
silently. 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  I  asked  of  a  man  near  me. 

"  That's  old  Miss  Hilda  Morrison — lives 
in  the  little  old  tumble-down  house  behind 
the  church.  She's  in  and  about  ninety 
years  old,  I  guess." 

She  was  his  betrothed.  She  had  lived, 
like  my  uncle,  in  life-long  exile  of  the  heart. 

When  the  procession  moved,  I  kept  near 
the  old  lady  I  had  seen,  and,  as  we  climbed 
the  hill,  I  offered  her  my  arm. 

"Won't  you  let  me  help  you?  I  am  a 
stranger  here,"  I  said.  She  took  it  without 
a  word,  except  to  murmur  her  thanks;  but 
on  the  way  up  she  asked  me  if  I  would  mind 
telling  her  my  name. 

"My  name  is  Abner  Hood,"  I  said,  gen 
tly,  "and  I  know  who  you  are."  Her  hand 
clutched  my  arm,  then  relaxed,  then  took  it 
again,  and  I  felt  her  head  pressed  softly 
against  my  shoulder.  And  from  that  time 
she  leaned  on  me  firmly. 


186 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

I 

IT  was  some  years  ago,  before  the  old  rela 
tion  between  the  "white  folks"  and  their  old 
"servants"  in  Virginia  had  so  changed  as  it 
has  of  late,  and  yet  when  the  change  had 
already  begun. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  a  spring  day,  Doc 
tor  Hunter  had  just  come  in  from  his  rounds 
about  the  neighborhood,  and  had  laid  his  hat 
and  gloves  on  the  old  piano  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  placed  his  worn  riding-whip  be 
side  them  in  a  wilderness  of  books,  flowers, 
and  nondescript  articles,  when  the  door 
opened  and  his  wife  entered.  She  appeared 
always  to  know  by  some  instinct  when  her 
husband  arrived. 

"I  did  not  see  you  ride  up,"  she  said,  as 
if  she  had  failed  in  some  duty.  "You 
didn't  get  to  see  Jane?" 

"No,"  said  her  husband,  "I  did  not  get 
187 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

down  in  the  direction  of  The  Bend — I  was 
detained,  that  child  was  so  sick.  I  will  go 
there  the  first  chance  I  have — I  don't  sup 
pose  there  is  much  the  matter  with  her — 
except  malaria." 

Mrs.  Hunter  looked  sympathetic.  Jane 
had  been  a  favorite  servant,  and  now  she 
was  ill.  "  I  am  afraid  she  is  in  rather  a  bad 
way.  Old  Moses  was  here  to-day  and  he 
reports  her  as  very  badly  off.  He  seems  to 
be  in  great  trouble  about  her.  He  was  very 
anxious  to  see  you.  He  says  there  is  a  man 
up  here  from  the  city — a  sort  of  preacher 
who  is  turning  the  people  against  him — 
wants  to  be  the  preacher  at  Mount  Hagar, 
himself." 

The  doctor  grunted — "I  heard  down  the 
road  that  there  was  a  young  city  negro  up 
here  stirring  them  up.  I  must  look  into  it." 

"He  was  very  much  disturbed  about 
Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter.  "I  will  see  if  he 
has  gone."  She  left  the  room. 

"Hysteria,  probably —  '  mused  the  old 
physician.  "She  may  be  mad." 

A  few  moments  later  there  was  a  knock 
188 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

on  the  door,  and  a  tall,  elderly  negro  man, 
very  black  and  with  bushy  white  hair, 
entered.  His  white  collar  gleamed  high 
against  his  black  skin.  In  his  hand  he  car 
ried  an  old  and  much  battered  beaver  hat, 
which  he  deposited  carefully  on  the  floor. 

"Good-evenin',  master/5 

"  Howdy  do,  Moses  ?  How  is  everything 
with  you?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"Tollerble,  master — tollerble,  suh — ev'y- 
thing  is  tollerble,  thankee,  suh — yes,  suh. 
How  is  you,  master?"  It  was  the  old  form 
of  salutation. 

"I'm  pretty  well,  thank  you.  How  is 
Jane?  Your  mistress  tells  me  that  she  has 
been  ailing?" 

The  doctor  spoke  as  if  the  old  man  had 
not  replied  at  all. 

"Yes,  suh — Jane — she's  tollerble  po'ly. 
I'se  right  smart  troubled  about  her,  suh — 
yes,  suh." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her?" 

"Well,  suh,  I  don't  rightly  know.  Some 
folks  thinks  she's  been — '  He  shambled 
and  hesitated,  and  glanced  around  the 
189 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

room — "  Some  folks  thinks  as  how  she  mus' 
V  been  tricked,"  he  added  with  conviction. 

"Ah!  Tricked?  I  thought,  Moses,  you 
had  more  sense." 

"Well,  suh,  I  don't  edzactly  say  as  / 
thinks  so;  but  some  folks  thinks  so — her 
mammy  thinks  so — and  she  certainly  do 
act  mighty  erresponsible — yes,  suh,  she  cer 
tainly  do." 

The  doctor  reflected.  "Who  says  she's 
been  tricked?  How  long  has  this  been 
going  on?" 

The  old  man  laid  one  long,  black  fore 
finger  in  the  horny  palm  of  the  other  hand 
and  began  to  count—  "Dthat  young  man 
have  been  here  five  Sundays — or,  maybe, 
hit's  six — I  disremembers  which  it  is  rightly 
— and  she  was  tooken  just  about  de  second 
week  after  he  come." 

"What  young  man?"  The  doctor  was 
interested. 

"He's  a  young  colored  man — from  Rich 
mond — he  says — he's  a  sort  of  doctor " 

"  A  doc  tor !  I  thought  he  was  a  preacher  ? " 

"Yes,  suh,  dthat  too;  but  he's  a  sort  o' 
190 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

doctor — not  a  doctor  like  you,  master — but 
a  sort  o'  sperits  doctor — 

"A  spirit  doctor?  What  sort  of  doctor  is 
that?  What  sort  of  things  does  he  do?" 

"Well,  suh,  he  ken  show  you  a  thing  in 
de  hand,  dat  you  ken  see  dyes  as  plain  as 
dat  dyah  book  on  dat  table,  an'  nex'  min 
ute  it  ain'  dyah,  an'  you'll  fine  it  jis  as  likely 
as  not  in  you'  hat  or  in  yo'  pocket." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  nod 
of  satisfaction.  His  scepticism  was  not  lost 
on  the  old  darky. 

"An'  dat  ain'  all,"  he  continued.  "He 
done  fin'  things  dthat  no  one  else  ain'  know 
nothin'  about — dat's  what  I  air  talkin' 
about.  Why,  he  fin'  de  trick-charm  sewed 
up  in  her  baid — sewed  up  in  it — 'way  in  de 
middle  o'  de  shucks!" 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  suh,  he  did  dat  thing — I  see  him 
wid  my  two  eyes.  And  dthat  ain'  all!"  he 
added,  seeing  a  look  of  amused  incredulity 
come  over  his  old  master's  face.  "  He  went 
out  and  find  another  trick-bag  in  de  mid 
dle  of  a  hollow  tree  right  by  de  spring — in 
191 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

de  very  middle — cause  I  see  him  when  he 
put  he  han'  in  and  fin'  it  right  whar  he  tell 


me  to  cut/3 


"Why,  he  had  it  in  his  hand  all  the  time," 
ejaculated  the  doctor. 

"Nor,  suh,  he  didn't — cause  he  had  done 
roll  up  he  sleeves  to  git  his  arm  in  de  holler 
and  he  striched  he  hands  wide  open — so — " 
He  illustrated  with  outstretched  hands, 
palms  down. 

The  doctor  chuckled. 

"Der  is  de  skorripins  and  things  dthat 
dee  conjure  wid — you  never  see  nothin'  like 
dem  things  dat's  in  'em — hyah  and  finger 
nails — and  tacks  an'  dried  insecks,  and 
worms,  an'  bat-wings,  and  I  don't  know 
what  all—  Dee  is  de  things  dee  done  set 
ag'inst  Jane  to  destroy  her  health,  and  los' 
her  soul.  And  he  says  he  kin  cure  her." 

The  doctor  nodded  with  satisfaction. 
"And  what  does  he  want  for  this  cure?" 

"Dyah'tis!"  said  Moses  briefly.  "He 
say  he  ken  cure  Jane;  but  he  got  to  have 
de  deed  to  my  place  to  do  it — he  cyan  do 

nothin'  tell  he  stan'  in  my  shoes " 

192 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

"Ah!  I  see — I  thought  so —  '  muttered 
the  doctor.  "Well,  you  are  not  fool  enough 
to  do  that,  I  hope?" 

"Nor,  suh — Fse  mighty  pestered — I  done 
offer  him  bofe  my  pigs  and  de  chickens;  but 
he  say  he  got  to  have  land — cause  she  come 
from  de  dust  and  she  got  to  go  to  de  dust 
again — dat  de  cuss  is  in  de  Ian' — or  dem 
whar  own  it.  An'  he  ain't  got  de  power  to 
help  her  long  as  I  got  de  Ian'."  He  pon 
dered  deeply.  "Sometimes  dat  man  talk 
mighty  curisom — you  might  think  I  had 
done  trick  her  de  way  he  talk.  I  hear  he 
tol'  some  of  de  elders  dat  it  was  somebody 
mighty  nigh  to  her  what  bring  dat  trouble 
pon  her  and  dat  he's  got  to  give  up  all 
he's  got  and  stan'  befo'  Gord  naked  befo'  he 
kin  meek  de  'tenement.  I  thought,  maybe, 
'twas  her  mammy;  but  he  said  hit  was  some 
body  dat's  versed  in  de  Scriptures — and  you 
know  Ria  cyarn  even  read  her  Bible — not 
very  good — so  it  mus'  be  me  he's  signifyin'." 

"  I  see —  I  see —  You  say  he's  a  preach 
er?" 

"He  done  meek  'em  tu'n  me  out,  suh." 
193 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

The  doctor  wheeled  and  faced  him — "It 
isn't  possible!" 

"Yes,  suh —  Nex'  Sunday  is  de  las' 
time  I  is  to  preach  at  Mount  Hagar." 

"Well,  it's  an  outrage!"  protested  the 
doctor. 

'Yes,  suh,  'tis!"  said  the  old  man  simply. 

The  doctor  reflected.  "We  must  see 
about  this.  I  shall  look  into  it— 

"I  sho'ly  wish  you  would,  suh,  cause  dat 
man  done  tu'n  me  out  o'  my  pulpit  and 
tryin'  to  tu'n  me  out  o'  my  place." 

The  doctor  came  very  near  swearing.  It 
manifestly  encouraged  the  old  darky  to  be 
more  confidential. 

"You  don't  know  what  a  bad  man  dat  is." 
He  lowered  his  voice  and  approached  him 
slowly,  with  his  tall  figure  bent  forward. 
"He  says  de  ain'  no  sich  place  as  hell!" 

He  spoke  in  a  horrified  tone  hardly  louder 
than  a  whisper. 

"Says  there  is  no  such  place  as  hell!" 

exclaimed  the  doctor,  subduing  the  twinkle 

in  his  eyes—      "Why,  I  never  heard  of  such 

a  thing!     Why,  it's — it's  positively  outra- 

194 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

geous !    Why,  in  a  month  I  shan't  have  a 
sheep  left  on  my  place!" 

"Nor,  suh,  dthat  you  wouldn't!"  ex 
claimed  the  old  man  in  a  tone  of  sympathy 
and  of  conviction.  He  stood  slowly  shaking 
his  head  in  an  attitude  of  deep  dejection. 
"I'll  tell  you  de  fac',  master,  if  dyah  ain'  no 
mo'  hell,  I  don't  want  to  live  no  longer!" 

"Well,  there  ought  to  be  one  if  there 
isn't,"  agreed  the  doctor,  "for  just  such 
gentry  as  he.  What  is  his  name  ? " 

"He  call  hisself ' Doctor  Simon.'  He  say 
he  name  is  Dr.  Simon  Jambers " 

"Ah!    Well,  he  ought  to  be  a  sorcerer 
with  those  two  names — Janes  and  Jambres 
seem  to  be  still  contending  with  Moses— 
ah?" 

The  old  darky  was  listening  attentively — 

"Dthat's  in  de  Bible,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes." 

The  old  man  gave  a  nod  of  satisfaction 
and  a  glint  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Ken  you  lay  yo'  han'  pon  dat  place?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  so —  It's  in  Timo 
thy,  I  know " 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Ah!  well,  if  it's  in  Timothy,  I  ken  fin' 
it —  I  'members  de  name  very  well " 

The  doctor  rose  and  walked  over  to  the 
door  of  the  wing-room  which  he  used  as  an 
office.  As  he  opened  it  he  turned  solemnly 
and  said :  "  I  will  give  you  a  little  physic  for 
Jane.  I  must  come  down  and  see  her — 
and,  meantime,  I  will  give  you  something 
to  give  her  which  will  take  the  trick  off. 
Come  this  way." 

An  expression  of  mingled  relief  and  hope 
came  over  the  old  man's  face  as  he  stepped 
forward. 

''Yes,  suh —  Yes,  suh —  I'se  mighty 
obleeged  to  you —  I'll  gin  't  to  her,  sho — 
Dat's  des  what  I  wants  her  to  have." 

The  room  which  they  entered  was  one 
that  certainly  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been 
the  workshop  of  some  old  practitioner  of  the 
black  art.  The  floor  was  bare,  except  for 
an  old  worn  deerskin  or  two;  the  black  ma 
hogany  furniture  with  carved  heads  and 
wings  had  been  originally  covered  with  horse 
hair,  but  now  it  was  broken  and  worn  in 
places  and  the  springs  stuck  up.  The  table 
196 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

was  covered  with  books,  papers,  and  bot 
tles  in  what  others  might  have  considered  a 
litter;  which  the  doctor,  however,  always  de 
clared  the  perfection  of  order.  A  bookcase, 
filled  with  medical  books  and  what  the  doc 
tor  termed  generically,  "apparatus,"  lined 
one  side  of  the  room  and  on  the  other  was  a 
large  double  press  with  glass  doors;  behind 
one  of  which  was  a  conglomerate  array  of 
bottles  of  every  size  and  hue,  while  behind 
the  other,  partly  veiled  by  the  remains  of  an 
old  green  curtain,  was  an  old  and  very  shaky 
skeleton  which  might  have  been  the  victim 
of  some  of  the  ingredients  the  bottles  con 
tained. 

The  old  negro,  as  he  entered  the  sanctum, 
insensibly  moved  on  tiptoe,  and  his  face 
assumed  an  expression  of  undisguised  awe 
as  his  eyes  roved  around  the  apartment  and 
finally  rested  on  the  glimmering  white  bones 
behind  the  glass  door  of  the  press.  The  old 
doctor  was  quite  oblivious  of  his  presence. 
The  effort  required  to  open  the  drawer 
shook  the  press  sufficiently  to  set  the  skele 
ton  to  shaking,  and  one  of  the  arms  slipped 
197 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

from  the  pin  on  which  it  rested  and  was  fall 
ing  forward  when  the  doctor  caught  it. 

"Ah!  old  man,  you  are  getting  tired  of 
standing  there,  are  you?"  he  said,  as  he  re 
placed  the  arm  carefully.  "Wait  a  little 
longer.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  come  down 
— I  may  have  further  use  for  you.  There's 
a  young  man  who  maybe  will  have  some 
work  for  you  to  do.  Good-evening—  He 
shut  the  door  softly  and  turned  to  the  table 
where  his  glass  stood.  He  was  talking  of 
his  son  who  was  beginning  to  study  medi 
cine  and  he  was  not  aware  of  the  effect  of 
his  words  on  his  companion. 

But  old  Moses'  eyes  were  bulging,  his 
bushy  white  hair  was  standing  on  his  head. 
He  interpreted  the  doctor's  words  literally 
as  applied  to  the  case  of  his  daughter  and 
the  young  trick-doctor.  It  gave  him  at 
once  a  new  feeling  of  awe  and  of  infinite 
respect  for  his  former  master. 

This  was  increased  when  the  doctor,  after 
much  mashing  and  mixing  of  a  blue  sub 
stance  on  the  bottom  of  a  plate,  rolled  up 
two  bluish  pills,  and,  putting  them  with  a 
198 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

number  of  white  ones  in  a  small  round  box 
with  a  skull  and  bones  on  the  top,  held  the 
box  out  to  him  with  a  solemn  injunction  to 
give  his  daughter  both  the  blue  pills  that 
night,  and  six  of  the  white  ones  next  morning 
— and  to  follow  them  up  with  spoonfuls  of 
the  liquid  from  the  phial.  Moses  was  about 
to  take  the  box  when  he  observed  that  on  it 
was  a  red  picture  of  a  skull  and  cross-bones, 
and  he  started  back  with  an  exclamation : 

"Lord,  master,  what  is  dat?" 

"Take  it,"  said  the  doctor  sternly.  "I 
am  trying  to  save  your  daughter,  and  this 
will  do  it  if  you  do  as  I  tell  you." 

The  old  man  took  it,  trembling,  holding  it 
much  as  if  it  were  a  coal  of  fire. 

"Yes,  suh.  Yes,  suh,  I'm  gwine  do  jest 
like  you  say — on'y  I'se  sort  o'  skeered  o' 
dem  things — 

'Your  daughter  will  be  one  of  them  soon 
if  you  don't  follow  my  instructions,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"Yes,  suh,  I'm  gwine  to  foller  'em,  sho," 
faltered  the  old  negro. 

"Well,  don't  let  that  young  man  know 

anything  about  it 

199 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Nor,  suh,  he  ain'  gwine  know  nuttin' 
'tall  about  it.  I  ain'  gwine  to  say  a  word  to 
nobody." 

"And  if  you  can  keep  that  rascal  away 
from  there,  so  much  the  better — in  fact,  you 
must  keep  him  away." 

"Yes,  suh,  I  am  gwine  to  do  dat  too — ef 
I  kin,"  he  added  with  a  touch  of  pathos. 

"Well,  if  you  can't,  I  can,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  "and,  maybe,  it  would  be  just  as  well 
to  let  him  be  there  when  I  come;  but  don't 
let  him  know  I  am  coming,  you  hear." 

"Nor,  suh — I  won't  do  dat,"  said  Moses. 

II 

THE  road  which  the  doctor  took  next  day 
lay  through  a  low-lying  district  of  swamps 
and  "mashes"  in  the  bend  of  the  river  from 
which  it  took  its  name,  "The  Bend."  Here 
the  negroes  in  the  first  flush  of  freedom  had 
established  a  settlement,  where  they  lived  to 
themselves. 

When  the  doctor  arrived  at  the  old 
preacher's  house,  he  was  impressed  by  the 
fact  that  it  was  the  best  of  the  score  or  more 

200 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

of  homes  that  composed  the  colored  settle 
ment.  Most  of  them  were  ordinary  cabins 
with  little  clearings  of  an  acre  or  two  about 
them  and  a  rickety  out-building  or  two  near 
by.  But  Moses'  home  was  a  two-story 
frame  structure  with  a  little  porch,  and  the 
out-buildings  were  in  good  shape,  while  the 
fields  about  the  place  showed  the  care  of  a 
good  and  industrious  farmer. 

"Naboth's  Vineyard,"  reflected  the  doc 
tor,  as  he  cast  his  eye  over  the  signs  of  thrift. 
His  gaze  rested  on  a  buggy,  with  a  scrawny 
horse  hitched  to  it,  standing  near  the  door, 
and  an  expression  of  speculation  came  into 
his  mild  eyes. 

As,  having  tied  his  horse,  he  approached 
the  door,  the  sound  of  a  woman's  moaning, 
accompanied  now  and  then  by  a  man's 
voice  in  a  high  nasal  tone,  caught  his  ear. 
He  paused  and  listened.  The  woman  ap 
peared  to  be  in  much  pain  or  distress;  and 
the  man  was  explaining  it;  for  fragments  of 
the  colloquy  reached  the  doctor. 

:'Yes — you  are  worse  than  you  were — 
You  feel  worse,  don't  you?" 

201 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Yes,  sir." 

"As  I  told  you —  Your  enemy  is  after 
you  again " 

The  woman  moaned  and  there  was  a 
buzz  within  from  some  one  else.  "I  felt 
sure  of  it — all  the  signs  related  it —  As  I 
told  you,  you  must  put  yourself  in  my  hands 
before  I  can  help  you.  Do  that  and  I  can 
cure  you — otherwise  you  have  not  long  to 
live." 

"Yes,  suh." 

"If  your  father  will  sign  the  paper  I  can 
cure  you — if  not,  I  am  powerless—  The 
malign  influence  is  too  strong—  The  pow 
er  of  evil  that  keeps  him  from  helping  me  to 
take  away  the  spell  on  you,  keeps  you  in 
misery  and  will  sink  you  in  torment " 

There  was  a  moan  of  fear  attended  by  the 
low  expostulation  of  some  one. 

"Now,  I  will  show  you—  Although  I 
removed  two  days  ago  the  conjure-bag  that 
your  enemy  put  in  your  bed,  I  will  show 
you  that  another  one  has  been  placed  there 
since —  You  will  all  see ' 

The  buzz  within  grew  louder — and  at  that 

202 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

moment  the  doctor  walked  up,  and  pushing 
the  door  wide  open,  stepped  inside. 

The  apparition  brought  the  proceedings 
within  to  a  sudden  halt. 

In  the  little  room  which  was  partly  dark 
ened  by  a  thin  red  curtain  hung  over  the 
single  window  were  a  half-dozen  persons, 
most  of  them  seated  around  the  fire.  In  a 
corner  the  patient,  a  young  woman,  very 
black,  but  now  ashy  with  terror,  lay  in  bed, 
her  eyes  now  drooping,  now  fastened  on  the 
man  who  stood  above  her.  At  the  foot  of 
the  bed  sat  an  old  woman  with  arms  folded, 
rocking  backward  and  forward  in  mingled 
fear  and  grief.  Two  or  three  young  slatterns 
sat  a  little  further  away,  their  expression 
divided  between  apprehension  and  curiosity, 
while  over  the  bed  of  the  terrified  patient 
bent  a  young,  slim  mulatto  dressed  in  a  long, 
loose,  black  coat.  At  the  moment  he  was 
making  slow  passes  with  his  hands.  On  his 
fingers  were  several  rings,  and  about  his 
neck  were  hung  two  or  three  chains  and 
strings  of  beads  to  which  were  attached  a 

number  of  charms. 

203 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

At  the  apparition  of  the  doctor  there  was 
a  sudden  cessation  of  the  incantation.  The 
young  man  straightened  up  and  fell  back 
from  the  bed  with  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise — the  women  rose  from  their  chairs. 

"Hello!  What  is  going  on  here?"  de 
manded  the  doctor.  He  addressed  the 
conjurer.  "What  are  you  doing  to  that 
woman?" 

"I  am  her  physician —  She  is  very  sick 
and  I  am  endeavoring  to  cure  her."  He 
had  recovered  himself  and  was  trying  to 
impress  the  spectators. 

"You  look  like  a  physician —  You  are 
endeavoring  to  kill  her — and  appear  to  be  in 
a  fair  way  of  doing  it."  He  turned  to  her 
mother.  "  Where  is  Moses  ? " 

"He  had  to  go  to  see  the  Justice — "  be 
gan  the  woman. 

"He  was  unexpectedly  called  away  this 
morning,"  interrupted  the  young  mulatto. 

"And  you  are  taking  advantage  of  his 
absence  to  kill  his  daughter." 

"No,  sir,  I  am  employing  the  means  of 
Psychotheripee  to  relieve  her  pains." 
204 


At  the  moment  he  was  making  slow  passes  with  his  hands 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

"Psycho — what?"  demanded  the  doctor, 
taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  holding 
it  out  to  him.  "Write  that  down." 

"  Psychotheripee —  You  have  surely 
heard  of  that?" 

"Oh,  yes —  I  have  heard  of  it.  Go 
ahead  and  write  it  down." 

"Well,  you  see,"  began  the  young  man, 
"I  don't  happen  to  have  a  pen  and  ink." 

"I  have  a  pencil,"  said  the  doctor  inex 
orably,  handing  him  one. 

He  walked  to  the  door  and,  glancing  out, 
said:  "Come  in  Moses,  I  want  you  to  see 
'the  doctor'  work."  The  old  negro  came 
in  somewhat  reluctantly  and  took  a  seat 
near  the  doctor  which  the  latter  had  in 
dicated.  His  expression  was  one  of  great 
gravity. 

The  mulatto  took  the  pencil  and  turned 
to  the  window.  He  knew  that  the  eyes  of 
all  the  negroes  were  on  him  and  he  was  on 
trial.  He  wrote  slowly  and  handed  it  to 
the  doctor,  who  read  the  word, "  Sycher- 
therripee." 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said,  and  put  the  paper 
205 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

back  in  his  pocket.  "Now  go  ahead  and 
let  me  see  how  you  proceed." 

The  negro  looked  at  him  keenly  and  then 
swept  the  room  with  a  swift  glance.  All 
eyes  were  fastened  on  him.  It  appeared  to 
decide  him. 

"Well,  you  see,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  in 
tended  to  impress  the  audience,  "I  cannot 
guarantee  that  the  supernatural  powers  will 
testify  their  presence  in  the  company  of — 
er — strangers —  They  require  a  sympa 
thetic  audience 

"Oh!  nonsense!"  said  the  doctor,  rousing 
up  a  little.  "Go  ahead,  and  let  us  see,  or 
else  confess  yourself  an  impostor." 

"No,  sir,  I  am  not  that,"  declared  Simon. 
"I  will  give  you  the  proof — if  I  can  get  the 
proper — er — atmosphere." 

"Humph!"  grunted  the  doctor.  "Open 
the  door,  Moses." 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that —  I  have  light 
enough— 

The  doctor's  grunt  this  time  was  one  of 
contempt. 

"  Don't  open  it,"  he  said  to  the  old  negro, 
206 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

who  was  proceeding  to  carry  out  his  order, 
and  now  stood  near  it.  Turning  his  back 
to  the  window,  the  doctor  settled  himself  as 
if  for  a  nap,  only  his  feet  were  drawn  up 
close  to  his  chair.  The  mulatto  continued 
to  talk  on  monotonously,  addressing  the 
others,  but  evidently  to  impress  the  doctor. 
He  moved  about  quietly,  ostentatiously 
pulling  up  his  sleeves,  and  he  "discoursed" 
of  the  wonderful  dealings  of  the  spirits, 
using  a  curious  jargon  of  mingled  lingo  and 
scientific  terms. 

As  the  negro  with  much  talk  and  many 
movements  of  the  hands  and  arms  pro 
ceeded  to  perform  his  acts  of  legerdemain 
— so  wonderful  to  the  ignorant,  so  natural 
to  the  initiated — his  dusky  audience  were 
wrought  up  gradually  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  wonderment  and  alarm — and  exclama 
tions  half  religious,  half  terror  constantly 
broke  from  them,  which  gradually  appeared 
to  act  on  the  trick-doctor  and  excite  him  to 
renewed  acts.  Now  and  then  he  cut  his 
eye  at  the  doctor,  who  appeared  to  have  lost 
interest  in  him  and  was  now  on  the  border- 
207 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

land  of  a  doze.  At  length,  the  trick-doctor 
appeared  satisfied.  He  gave  a  last  shrewd 
glance  at  the  doctor,  whose  eyes  were  almost 
closed. 

"I  feel  sure  that  the  evil  spirits  have  been 
at  work.  You  all  see  that  I  have  nothing 
in  my  hands — "  He  waved  them  in  the 
dusk,  palms  down —  "I  will  now  show 
you  that  I  was  right.  The  trick  has  been 
worked  again.  I  feel  sure  that  I  shall  find 
in  the  mattress  the  same  bag  which  I  dis 
covered  there  the  other  day.  Watch  the 
chimney — one  of  you —  All  eyes  turned 
toward  the  fireplace.  He  leaned  over  the 
bed. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  slight  noise 
behind  him — an  arm  shot  by  him  and  his 
right  hand  was  seized  with  a  grip  of  iron. 
"Open  the  door,  Moses,"  said  the  doctor — 
"Ah!  I  thought  so—  Look  there."  He 
had  given  the  trick-doctor's  arm  a  wrench 
which  brought  the  palm  into  view,  and  there 
held  fast  in  the  palm  by  the  doctor's  firm 
clutch  was  a  little  black  bag.  The  doctor 
caught  it  as  it  dropped  on  the  bed.  "Get 
208 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

out,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  the  mulatto 
loose  and  moved  to  the  door,  where  with  his 
pocket  knife  he  cut  the  bag  open.  It  con 
tained  the  usual  assortment  of  charms :  hair, 
tacks,  a  dried  frog,  a  beetle  or  two,  etc.,  etc. 
The  other  occupants  crowded  about  him 
with  wide  eyes  while  he  inspected  them,  but 
now  and  then  turned  their  gaze  timidly  on 
the  sorcerer,  who  stood  glowering  in  the 
rear.  One  or  two  of  them  after  a  moment 
at  a  sign  from  him  moved  back  nearer  to 
him,  where  he  began  to  whisper  to  them  the 
explanation  that  that  was  a  trick  which  the 
person  who  laid  the  spell  sometimes  per 
formed.  "You  all  saw  that  I  didn't  have 
anything  in  my  hand,"  he  whispered  sul 
lenly. 

The  doctor  caught  his  meaning  if  not  his 
words.  He  turned  on  him  sharply.  "Get 
out,"  he  waved  toward  the  door.  "There'll 
be  an  officer  here  for  you  soon."  He  stood 
pointing  to  the  door  and  the  mulatto  passed 
out  with  an  angry  gleam  in  his  eye. 

The  doctor  watched  him  climb  in  the 
buggy  with  the  lean  horse  and  drive  slowly 
down  the  road  into  the  woods. 
209 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

Then  he  turned  to  the  patient.  When  he 
finished  his  examination,  he  said:  "I'll  cure 
her  if  you  keep  that  rascal  away  from  here 
— if  not,  he  will  kill  her." 

"Yes,  suh,  I'll  keep  him  away,"  said 
Moses. 

"And   if  you  can't  keep  him  away,   I 


can." 


"Yes,  suh,  I'll  keep  him  away  from  heah 
now,"  said  Moses  firmly.  He  had  been 
overawed,  hitherto,  by  his  belief  in  the 
supernatural ;  but  now  that  this  terror  was 
disposed  of  he  was  on  ground  that  he  knew, 
and  was  gaining  courage  every  second,  as 
he  showed  next  moment.  A  whisper  and 
nervous  giggle  among  the  women  at  his 
back  caught  his  ear.  He  turned  on  them — 
"Ain't  you  got  no  better  manners'n  dthat?" 
he  demanded  sternly.  "Don't  le'  me  have 
to  speak  to  you  agin — and  don't  any  of  you 
try  to  git  dthat  man  back  heah  again — I 
don'  want  to  have  to  lay  meh  han'  'pon 
none  o'  you — cause  it's  heavy." 

As  the  women  shrank  back  abashed,  he 
turned  again  to  the  doctor. 

"Yes,    suh,    I'll    keep    him   away   from 

210 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

heah,"  he  said,  with  the  dignity  of  an  old 
chief.  "He  may  git  meh  chutch;  but  he 
won't  git  dis  place — not  ef  evy  woman  whar 
wyahs  a  shif  on  dthis  river  perishes." 

"Now,  come  with  me  home,"  said  the 
doctor,  "and  I  will  give  you  something  that 
will  cure  her.  If  there  is  any  more  trick 
ing  tried,  I  will  take  a  hand  in  it  myself." 

"Yes,  suh,"  said  Moses  with  conviction 
— "I  been  see  you."  He  had  in  mind  the 
doctor's  conversation  with  the  skeleton. 

When  Moses  returned  home  from  the  doc 
tor's  he  bore  with  him  certain  compounded 
drugs  in  which  that  experienced  practitioner 
placed  much  reliance  in  cases  of  malaria  and 
all  its  attendant  troubles.  But  he  had  also 
that  in  which  he  himself  placed  more  reli 
ance.  He  had  got  the  doctor  to  find  and 
mark  for  him  in  his  Bible  every  reference  to 
the  miracles  of  Moses  and  to  the  sorcerer, 
Simon.  For  Moses  had  still  one  more  battle 
to  fight. 

The  young  mulatto,  with  his  college  edu 
cation  and  his  wonderful  performances,  had 

211 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

made  too  deep  an  impression  on  the  sable 
element  of  the  community  to  be  disposed  of 
by  a  single  encounter.  It  was  indeed  gen 
erally  given  out  that  he  had  won  the  con 
test  and  established  his  power.  He  had  cir 
culated  the  story  that  he  had  found  the 
charm,  and  the  doctor  had  proved  it.  The 
fact  that  he  had  had  it  in  his  hand  all  the 
time  was  denied  by  a  half-dozen  witnesses. 
The  doctor  had  advised  Moses  to  unmask 
the  rascal  and  prove  to  his  neighbors  and 
flock  how  his  tricks  were  performed;  but 
Moses  knew  a  trick  worth  two  of  that.  He 
also  knew  his  flock  better  than  the  doctor 
did.  He  proposed  to  unmask  his  rival,  but 
in  a  way  that  would  relieve  him  of  future 
peril.  Accordingly,  he  took  his  own  course. 
For  the  remainder  of  that  week  he  plunged 
in  study  of  the  Bible,  and  only  emerged  to 
discourse  of  the  learning  and  power  of  his 
former  master,  to  drop  dark  hints  of  his 
interviews  with  the  dead  in  the  secret  sanc 
tum  of  his  office,  and  to  prophesy  as  to  the 
wonders  that  would  be  shown  the  following 
Sunday. 

212 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

Meantime  the  doctor  had  some  corre 
spondence  with  the  authorities  back  in  the 
region  from  which  Dr.  Simon  Jambers 
had,  according  to  his  own  account,  come. 
The  result  was  reassuring — and  before  the 
end  of  a  week  a  stranger  with  a  quiet,  un 
emotional  face  and  cold  eyes  came  from 
the  city  with  a  letter  to  the  doctor  from  his 
correspondent  there. 

"That  is  not  his  name,"  said  the  detec 
tive.  "  His  real  name  is  Simon  Jones,  but  he 
has  a  number  of  aliases.  If  he  is  the  man 
we  want,  he  is  a  keen  one.  He  is  a  great 
hand  at  legerdemain  and  has  got  piles  of 
money  out  of  the  fools  that  trust  him." 

"  He  is  the  man,"  said  the  doctor. 

"But  how  can  we  catch  him?  He  is  as 
sly  as  a  rat." 

"We  will  find  him  at  church  Sunday  even 
ing,"  said  the  doctor.  "He  is  to  preach 
there." 

The  detective  rarely  smiled;  but  he  did  so 
now.  "He  must  be  the  one,"  he  said. 


213 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

III 

THE  following  Sunday  night  the  large  col 
ored  church  in  the  woods  which  the  negroes 
had  first  called  Mount  Zion,  but  which  had 
come  to  be  known  as  "Mount  Hagar,"  be 
cause  the  doctor  had,  with  some  humor, 
dubbed  it  "Mount  Hagar  in  the  Wilder 
ness,"  was  packed  to  more  than  its  capacity. 
Both  within  and  without  its  whitewashed 
walls  the  sable  congregation  teemed  and 
steamed.  For  it  was  known  that  that  night 
the  old  preacher,  Brother  Moses  Johnson, 
was  to  preach  his  farewell  sermon.  His 
rival,  "Preacher  Simon  Jambers,"  whose 
wonderful  powers  as  a  trick-doctor  were  by 
report  only  equalled  by  his  gifts  as  a 
preacher,  had  according  to  rumor  sup 
planted  him,  and  Moses  had  to  go.  The 
younger  man  was,  it  is  true,  a  new-comer, 
and  no  one  knew  much  about  him;  but  he 
had  education  and  he  had  made  a  deep  im 
pression  on  the  newly  freed  congregation. 
He  could  read  fluently  at  sight  anything 
shown  him,  and  it  was  even  asserted  by 
214 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

some,  mainly  on  his  own  testimony,  that  he 
could  read  a  "dead  language,"  which  only 
the  most  learned  white  people  could  read. 
Besides  this,  he  had,  according  to  all  re 
ports,  shown  powers  which  no  other  "colored 
white-gent'man"  had  ever  been  known  to 
possess,  at  least  in  equal  degree.  He  not 
only  could  lay  spells — which  others  could 
do — though  they  were  mainly  old  persons; 
but  he  could  divine,  and  he  could  exorcise 
— in  the  language  of  the  negroes  he  could 
tell  if  anybody  had  "put  a  trick  upon  you," 
and  "ef  you'd  jest  trus'  him,"  he  could  take 
it  off — and  it  was  more  than  half  believed 
that  he  could  "put  a  trick"  or  spell  on  a 
person  himself.  With  these  endowments 
he  was  a  man  of  power  among  the  newly 
freed  population  of  the  Bend. 

Had  the  big  preaching  at  Mount  Hagar, 
at  which  Moses  was  to  preach  his  last  ser 
mon,  taken  place  a  week  earlier,  there  is  no 
telling  what  the  effect  would  have  been.  In 
the  preceding  weeks  Doctor  Simon  had  as 
good  as  ousted  Brother  Moses  from  his  cure 
and  had  so  wrought  on  his  flock  that  there 
215 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

was  great  danger  that  the  old  man  would 
be  driven  out  of  the  community,  if  indeed 
he  did  not  suffer  bodily  harm  at  the  hands 
of  his  excited  flock.  The  new-comer  had 
begun  to  regard  the  old  man's  place  as  his 
own,  for  at  that  time  it  was  known  through 
out  the  neighborhood  that  the  young  negro 
was  working  in  this  direction,  and  with  his 
power  to  cast  spells,  few  negroes  cared  to 
resist  him.  The  last  week,  however,  had 
brought  a  certain  change  in  the  case.  It 
became  known  that  the  doctor — the  "sho'- 
nough  doctor"  as  they  called  him — had 
been  down  to  see  Jane,  the  chief  object  of  the 
new-comer's  ministrations,  and  had  openly 
scouted  with  derision  the  idea  that  he  pos 
sessed  any  occult  powers.  "He  is  just  a 
plain,  every-day  charlatan  and  rascal,"  de 
clared  the  doctor  to  every  one  he  came 
across.  Certainly,  something  had  occurred 
which  had  given  Moses  the  power  to  "stand 
up  against  him"  and,  furthermore,  Moses, 
who  had  been  in  abject  terror  of  him,  but  a 
week  or  two  before,  now  appeared  not  only 
to  fear  him  no  longer,  but  actually  to  have 
216 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

the  courage  to  withstand  him.  Still,  there 
were  many  adherents  of  the  new  man  who 
stuck  to  him  and  contended  that  he  not 
only  had  the  powers  he  claimed,  but  would 
display  them  signally  the  following  Sunday 
night  at  Mount  Hagar.  "  Jes'  wait/5  they 
said,  and  shook  their  heads  ominously  at 
the  dire  possibilities  at  which  they  hinted 
so  mysteriously. 

Thus,  long  before  the  hour  when  the 
preaching  usually  began,  the  grove  about 
the  building  was  filled  with  vehicles  of  every 
description,  from  old  single-stick  gigs  and 
rickety,  high-pitched  carriages,  which  had 
somehow  survived  the  war  and  come  into 
possession  of  their  sable  owners,  to  new 
buggies,  shiny  with  oil-cloth,  and  farm  wag 
ons  bristling  with  chairs.  The  church  itself 
bulged  with  the  congregation,  and  the  sound 
of  intermittent  chanting  began  to  arise  and 
float  out  at  the  windows  with  the  pungent 
odor  of  the  "  musky,  oiled  skin  of  the  Kaf 
fir."  The  platform  was  filled  with  chairs 
for  the  inordinately  solemn  and  important- 
looking  elders,  mostly  with  gray  hair,  and 
217 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

two  larger  chairs  were  placed  well  to  the 
fore  on  either  side  near  the  pulpit  for  the 
rivals.  The  building  could  not  hold  the 
congregation  that  had  assembled. 

The  afternoon  had  been  peculiarly  close 
and  sultry  with  heat-lightning  and  the  dis 
tant  rumble  of  thunder  to  the  westward, 
and  as  the  dusk  fell  the  clouds  began  to 
deepen  along  the  western  horizon  and  the 
grumble  of  thunder  took  on  a  deeper  and 
more  ominous  growl.  The  young  preacher 
was  on  the  field  early — in  the  impressiveness 
of  a  black  coat  and  shiny  beaver,  and  with 
a  dazzling  watch-chain.  His  smug  air  of 
assurance  encouraged  his  followers  and  cast 
a  corresponding  gloom  over  the  older  part 
of  the  congregation. 

Moses,  however,  was  later  than  usual  in 
reaching  the  church — so  late,  indeed,  that 
before  his  appearance  there  was  considerable 
discussion  going  on  as  to  whether  he  would 
appear  at  all,  many  declaring  that  he  did  not 
dare  to  meet  the  test.  He  had  been  seen 
that  afternoon  going  in  the  direction  of  the 
old  doctor's  and  had  not  been  heard  of  since. 
218 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

This  report  was  beginning  to  take  on  the 
form  of  his  having  been  seen  in  flight  from 
the  neighborhood,  when,  just  after  a  long 
rumble  of  thunder,  the  old  man  appeared, 
coming  down  a  woodland  path,  with  his  old 
high  hat  and  long,  flowing  coat,  his  old  Bible 
under  his  arm  and  his  heavy  stick  clutched 
in  his  hand.  As  he  passed  across  the  rough 
church-yard,  though  he  acknowledged  with 
a  silent  bow  the  half-suppressed  greetings  of 
the  groups  near  him,  he  looked  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
ground  as  if  in  deep  meditation.  Only  when 
he  reached  the  door  he  turned  and  scanned 
the  sky  up  which  the  dark-blue  cloud  was 
steadily  mounting — then,  as  if  satisfied,  he 
took  out  his  large  watch  and  consulted  it 
thoughtfully,  turned  and  entered  the 
church,  and  made  his  way  to  the  platform. 
It  was  arranged  that  the  new-comer 
should  read  and  pray  first,  and  then  that 
Moses  should  preach.  It  was  Doctor  Si 
mon's  own  suggestion,  and  at  the  appointed 
time  he  rose  with  a  flourish  and,  advancing 
to  the  desk,  opened  the  Bible  which  lay 
219 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

thereon,  and  began  to  flutter  the  leaves 
backward  and  forward  till  he  found  the 
"portion  of  Scripture"  which  he  proposed  to 
read.  His  assurance  and  ease  made  a 
marked  impression  and  when  in  his  high 
nasal  tone  he  proceeded  to  read  fluently  in 
a  staccato  manner  the  chapter  he  had  se 
lected,  the  entire  audience  were  undoubt 
edly  much  impressed.  Then  he  prayed  a 
somewhat  discursive  and  protracted  prayer. 
It  was,  indeed,  possibly  too  protracted;  for 
the  evening  was  sultry,  and  there  was  to 
ward  the  end  a  decided  shuffling  of  feet  and 
restlessness  on  the  part  of  his  auditors,  while 
another  portion  were  too  quiet  and  gradu 
ally  fell  into  the  placidity  of  slumber. 
Something  had  evidently  disturbed  him. 
His  chief  card  in  particular  failed.  He  ex 
pressed  his  gratitude  for  having  been  given 
power  to  show  signs  and  wonders  and  to 
overcome  the  wiles  and  evil  designs  of  one 
who  had  been  deceiving  his  hearers  and 
whose  ignorance  he  had  been  able  to  make 
manifest.  But  the  same  words  which  on 
the  last  Sunday  had  excited  the  congrega- 
220 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

tion  to  frenzy,  now  unexpectedly  fell  almost 
flat.  It  manifestly  disconcerted  him  and  he 
began  to  ramble  and  repeat  himself.  He 
changed  his  tone  and  became  more  threaten 
ing.  At  this  moment,  as  he  was  about  to 
begin  his  attack  which  was  to  thrill  his  audi 
ence  and  sweep  them  away — in  the  door-way 
appeared  two  white  men — the  old  doctor  and 
another.  The  young  man  had  just  got  well 
under  way  when  the  tall  form  that  he  knew 
so  well  emerged  from  the  throng  in  the  aisle 
near  the  door,  followed  by  a  stranger.  They 
were  brought  up  by  the  elders  and  were 
seated  on  the  platform.  It  was  a  staggering 
blow  to  the  young  preacher — for  his  prayer 
dealt  largely  with  a  matter  which  he  could 
not  well  discuss  with  freedom  before  so  influ 
ential  a  white  man  as  the  doctor,  not  to 
mention  the  stranger,  who  now  sat  on  the 
other  side,  a  little  behind  him.  He  was  a 
spare,  vigorous-looking  man  with  a  strong, 
immovable  face  and  a  cold  eye,  and  as  he 
sat  in  his  chair  he  was  as  detached  as  fate. 
He  brought  a  vague  association  to  the  new 
apostle  and  though  Simon  could  not  quite 

221 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

place  him,  it  made  him  wander  and  circle 
in  his  discourse,  and,  finally,  he  closed  al 
most  abruptly  and  sat  down.  As  he  took 
his  seat  and  mopped  his  face,  the  congrega 
tion  rustled  with  expectancy.  One  of  the 
elders  crossed  over  to  old  Moses  and  spoke 
to  him  in  a  low  tone.  The  old  preacher 
took  no  visible  notice  of  him.  He  was  ap 
parently  as  oblivious  of  his  presence  as 
though  he  had  been  in  a  wilderness.  He 
sat  as  still  as  if  he  were  in  a  trance,  and  the 
elder  had  to  lean  over  and  take  him  by  the 
arm  before  he  moved.  Then  he  apparently 
awoke.  He  rose  with  grave  deliberation, 
and  without  looking  at  the  audience  ad 
vanced  slowly  to  the  desk.  Here  he  paused 
and  began  a  slow  and  solemn  search  through 
his  raiment  until  from  some  deep  and  ap 
parently  almost  inaccessible  recess  he  ex 
tracted  a  large  iron  spectacle-case.  From 
this  he  slowly  took  a  pair  of  large  silver- 
rimmed  spectacles,  which  he  solemnly  and 
laboriously  adjusted  on  his  nose.  It  was 
the  Thummim  and  the  Urim  of  his  profes 
sion  and  their  adjustment  partook  of  a  rite. 

222 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

His  deliberation  and  confidence  appeared  to 
affect  at  least  a  portion  of  his  audience,  for 
first  one,  then  another  of  the  elderly  sisters 
broke  forth  into  exclamations  of  emotional 
rapture :  "Um-mh!  Yes,  Lord!" 

To  the  casual  witness  the  old  man  might 
have  appeared  to  take  not  the  least  notice 
of  it,  as,  with  profound  solemnity,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  turn  the  leaves  of  the  Bible  back 
and  forth,  apparently  hunting  for  his  text. 
But  a  keen  observer  might  have  noticed  the 
firmer  setting  of  his  strong  jaw  and  the  dila 
tion  of  his  nostrils.  Still  he  took  no  more 
notice  of  the  expressive  outburst  than  he  did 
of  Simon's  sudden  shifting  in  his  seat.  He 
appeared  wholly  detached  from  them. 

Having  marked  a  number  of  places  to  his 
satisfaction,  he  turned  back  toward  the  be 
ginning  of  the  Bible  and  began  to  speak. 
"The  tenth  chapter  of  the  first  book  of 
Moses,"  he  announced  slowly,  and  began  to 
read  with  portentous  solemnity  the  names 
of  the  generation  of  the  sons  of  Noah.  He 
had  an  abysmal  voice  and  he  read  the  long 
record  of  strange  names  with  deep  intona- 
223 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

tion  and  with  an  ease  which  impressed 
mightily  his  less  literate  flock.  Having  per 
formed  this  amazing  task,  to  the  manifest 
wonderment  of  his  hearers,  he  turned  the 
leaves  and  found  another  place. 

"I  will  now  read  to  you  the  miracles  by 
which  de  Lord  by  de  hand  of  Moses  led  the 
children  of  Israel  out  of  Egypt  to  de  land  of 
Canyan."  He  read  slowly  the  story  of 
Moses'  call  and  the  miracle  of  Aaron's  rod 
swallowing  the  transformed  rods  of  the 
magicians.  For  the  first  time  he  lifted  his 
eyes  from  the  book  and  addressed  his  audi 
ence.  "De  names  of  dem  magicians  is  not 
set  down  hyah  in  dthis  chapter,"  he  said 
solemnly.  "But  Gord  had  'em  writ  down 
in  his  everlastin'  record  and  when  de  time 
comes  he  will  tell  'em  to  you."  Once  more 
he  turned  the  leaves  and  read  a  few  verses 
about  Simon  the  Sorcerer.  Again  turning  a 
little  further  on,  he  read  of  the  seven  sons  of 
Sceva,  who  attempted  to  exorcise,  and  of  the 
man  jumping  on  them.  He  closed  the  book. 
"And  now,"  he  said,  "let  us  pray." 

He  was  noted  as  a  "clamorer  at  de 
224 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

throne,"  no  less  than  as  a  preacher,  and,  in 
deed,  at  times,  except  that  he  shut  his  eyes 
while  engaged  in  the  former  exercise,  one 
might  have  been  at  some  trouble  to  dis 
tinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  To-night 
he  was  in  full  power  and  he  had  hardly  be 
gun  before  the  effect  on  his  hearers  was  pro 
found.  Beginning  slowly  and  calmly  at 
first,  his  sonorous  voice  soon  rose  to  its  full 
compass,  and  his  utterances  became  more 
and  more  rapid,  till  the  words  poured  forth 
in  a  volume  too  great  for  him  to  catch  his 
breath,  and  he  drew  it  in  as  if  his  throat  had 
been  a  great  suction  pipe.  Picturing  the 
terrors  of  torment  in  lurid  terms,  he  prayed 
for  all  before  him — and  he  described  them 
all  as  wicked  and  condemned  and  perishing 
sinners  for  whom  he  called  on  the  God  of 
Moses  to  come  and  save  them  from  eternal 
torment  and  fetch  them  to  the  promised  land. 
He  followed,  in  ringing  and  breathless  sen 
tences,  the  story  of  Moses  through  the 
journeyings  and  troubles  in  the  wilderness; 
dwelt  on  the  rebellion  of  Korah,  Dathan, 

and  Abiram,  and  pictured  the  terrible  death 
225 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

of  all  who  clave  to  them  and  went  down 
quick  into  the  pit.  He  recalled  the  fact 
that  only  two  of  all  the  men  that  left  Egypt 
as  God's  chosen  people  had  crossed  the  Jor 
dan  ;  and  he  pleaded  for  greater  mercy  now 
— praying  that  though  God  should  "shake 
the  rebellious  sinners  over  hell  till  it  singed 
their  eyebrows  and  blistered  their  soles," 
he  would  not  drop  them  into  eternal  tor 
ment. 

The  effect  on  his  congregation  was  imme 
diate.  He  was  unconsciously  using  the  lan 
guage  of  the  Psalms  and  the  prophets,  and 
as  he  intoned  his  sonorous  sentences  they 
began  to  sway  and  rock  and  respond  with 
fervid  groans  and  shouts. 

Then  suddenly,  as  a  rumble  of  thunder 
rolled  into  a  crash,  Moses  ceased. 

Rising,  he  once  more  went  through  the 
rite  of  adjusting  his  glasses,  opened  his  Bible 
and  read  his  text:  "And  the  Lord  said  unto 
Moses,  Now  shalt  thou  see  what  I  will  do 
to  Pharaoh"  —one  more  turn  of  the  leaf — 
"And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Stretch 
forth  thine  hand  toward  heaven  that  there 
226 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

may  be  hail  in  all  the  land  of  Egypt :  upon 
man  and  upon  beast,  and  upon  every  herb 
of  the  field  throughout  the  land  of  Egypt." 
He  closed  the  book  and  facing  slightly 
toward  the  west,  after  a  moment,  stretched 
his  arm  solemnly  over  Simon's  head  to 
where  the  sound  of  the  thunder  was  grow 
ing  louder  and  more  instant.  It  manifestly 
made  a  deep  impression,  for  the  congrega 
tion  gasped  and  gazed  toward  the  western 
windows,  where  the  sky  was  growing  black 
with  the  swiftly  coming  storm.  Simon 
shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat  and  glanced 
nervously  toward  the  windows  like  the 
others.  Moses,  however,  was  as  calm  as 
the  Sphinx.  He  turned  and  began  to  speak 
in  a  deep  voice.  With  a  simple  direct 
ness  he  pictured  the  recent  happiness  and 
content  of  the  people  in  their  new  freedom 
and  their  reliance  on  God,  who  had  set 
them  free,  and  their  confidence  in  his  word 
that  had  plucked  them  from  the  eternal  tor 
ments  of  hell-fire  and  given  them  the  hope  of 
heaven  with  its  golden  streets  and  its  rest 
beside  the  waters  of  comfort.  He  described 
227 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

himself  as  the  poor  and  stammering  Moses 
who  had  been  taken  from  the  wilderness  and 
sent  to  Pharaoh  to  bring  them  out  of  Egypt 
and  lead  them  to  the  promised  land —  But 
Pharaoh  had  hardened  his  heart  and  had 
sent  and  brought  his  magicians  to  deceive 
them  and  keep  them  in  bondage. 

"And  who  was  this  deceiver?"  he  de 
manded.  "Who  was  the  magician?"  He 
would  tell  them.  He  turned  to  one  of  the 
marks  in  his  Bible  and  read  slowly  and  im 
pressively  the  account  of  Simon  the  Sor 
cerer.  Closing  the  book  he  addressed  them 
again:  "Simon — not  Simon  Peter — but  Si 
mon  the  Sorcerer,  who  had  thought  that  for 
money  he  could  buy  Jehovah — Simon  who 
had  deceived  the  people  and  led  them  away 
from  Moses — led  them  back  toward  Egypt — 
back  to  the  place  where  they  were  enslaved 
— back  to  the  company  of  Korah,  Dathan, 
and  Abiram,  to  be  swallowed  up  quick  in 
everlasting  fire."  His  long,  rhythmic  sen 
tences,  in  the  very  words  of  the  prophecies  of 
Isaiah  and  Ezekiel,  as  he  denounced  curses 
upon  them  told  on  them  more  and  more.  He 
228 


Simon  shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

rang  the  changes  on  Simon — repeating  the 
name  at  the  end  of  sentence  after  sentence 
— Simon — who  envied  the  apostles — Simon 
— who  worked  his  charms  and  enchantment 
and  called  them  miracles  which  only  the 
apostles  could  perform — Simon,  who  said 
there  was  no  hell,  and  so  he  could  do  all  his 
wicked  deeds  and  not  be  punished — "Simon 
— Simon — Simon — "  he  repeated,  with  ever- 
changing  and  ringing  intonation  till  the  con 
gregation,  thrilled  by  his  resounding  voice, 
rocked  and  swayed  and  shouted  in  unison, 
while  the  object  of  his  attack  shifted  and 
shrank  deep  into  his  chair  and  tried  in  vain 
to  appear  unmoved. 

"But  there  were  several  Simons —  It 
would  not  do  to  make  any  mistake  about  the 
Sorcerer —  There  was  Simon  Peter  and  Si 
mon  Zelotes — and  Simon  the  Cyrenian " 

At  this  moment  the  young  man  could 
stand  it  no  longer —  He  rose  suddenly. 

"I  hate  to  interrupt  Brother  Moses,"  he 

said,  "but  my  name  is  neither  Simon  Peter 

nor  Simon  Zelotes — my  name  is  Simon  Jam- 

bers."    A  murmur  of  approval  from  some 

229 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

younger  members  greeted  his  interruption 
— but  it  was  hushed  instantly  as  Moses  with 
uplifted  hand  turned  to  him. 

"Simon — what  did  you  say?"  he  de 
manded  in  a  solemn  voice—  "  Simon  Jones  ? " 
His  glance  took  in  the  detective  (who  sud 
denly  appeared  to  awaken  to  life)  and  then 
rested  on  Simon. 

"Simon  Jambers,"  said  the  other  in  a 
weakened  voice,  as  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  known  came  to  him. 

"Simon  Jambers!"  repeated  Moses  in  a 
deep  voice.  He  turned  to  the  congregation 
and  catching  up  the  big  Bible  opened  it  at 
a  mark  as  if  by  accident  and  read  slowly: 
"When  Janes  and  Jambers  withstood  Mo 
ses—  He  held  the  book  out  till  it  almost 
touched  Simon's  face.  "Here  it  is,"  he 
thundered,  "set  down  in  de  book — de  very 
name!"  He  faced  the  congregation.  "Did 
n't  I  tell  you  Gord  had  set  it  down  in  his 
everlastin'  record!  Jambers — Simon  Jam 
bers!"  The  stillness  could  be  felt. 

At  this  moment,  after  the  dead  calm,  came 
the  racing  wind  over  the  trees,  whirling  the 
230 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

leaves  before  it,  and  shaking  the  house  as  if 
it  would  tear  it  from  its  foundations. 

He  turned  back  to  the  luckless  Simon — 
"Thou  spawn  of  Satan — thou  offspring  of 
hell  and  damnation — thou  hast  come  back, 
hast  thou,  to  withstand  old  Moses  and  try 
with  thy  serpent's  guile  to  deceive  this 
people  jes'  set  free  and  lead  'em  back  to 
bondage  to  de  flames  of  de  fiery  furnace! 
De  hell  thou  hast  derided  is  yawnin'  for 
thee  even  now — de  torment  thou  hast  been 
sent  from  to  work  dthy  evil  spells  is  waitin' 
and  blazin'  and  heated  seven  times  seven  to 
scorch  and  shrivel  dthy  po'  yaller  body  and 
dthy  miserable  sin-blackened  soul!  Thou 
snake-bearer  of  Pharaoh  and  of  sin — go  get 
thee  hence  and  let  my  people  go!"  He 
suddenly  turned  and  stretched  forth  his 
arm  with  out-pointing,  long,  lean  finger — 
"  Behold  de  pillar  of  de  cloud  has  come  and 
de  pillar  of  fire  is  approachin'!" 

At  this  moment  the  storm  broke  and  a 

peal  of  thunder,  beginning  with  a  terrific 

crash,  rolled  across  the  sky,  shaking  the 

building   and    startling   the   shouting   and 

231 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

swaying  people.  Many  of  them,  with  nerves 
already  wrung  and  senses  deluged  with 
emotion,  cried  out  in  an  agony  of  terror 
and  began  to  pray  aloud.  But  Moses  was 
in  his  element.  The  more  blinding  the 
lightning  and  the  louder  the  crashing  of  the 
thunder,  the  louder  he  proclaimed  the  judg 
ment  of  Omnipotence  against  the  sin  of  the 
sorcerer  and  all  who  sided  with  him. 
"Don't  you  hear  'em  comin'  for  him!"  he 
thundered.  "Ain't  dat  de  hail  dat's  rat- 
tlin'  and  de  lightenin'  a-runnin'  along  de 
ground?"  And  as  the  flashes  merged  into 
each  other — so  close  were  they:  "Ain't  death 
a-followin'  in  de  track,  and  ain't  dat  de  fo'- 
runner  o'  de  fire  of  hell  a-gleamin'  and  a- 
comin'  nigher  "an'  nigher  for  sinners  ev'y 
minute?"  And  with  each  successive  gust 
of  the  tempest  and  successive  crash  which 
rocked  the  building  he  called  on  his  people 
to  fall  on  their  knees  and  repent — lest  they 
be  swept  away,  and  swallowed  up  quick  like 
Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram.  He  set  the 
example  and  prayed  fervently  for  pardon 
for  the  ignorant.  Was  there  a  Jonah  in  de 
232 


THE  TRICK-DOCTOR 

Ark  ?  Let  'em  arise  and  fling  him  out  and 
save  themselves  from  the  wrath  to  come — 
even  dtho'  the  great  leviathan  of  hell  was 
awaitin'  to  swallow  him  up. 

Whether  it  was  the  apt  allusion  or  for 
some  other  cause,  with  a  sudden  impulse 
from  the  overwrought  multitude,  the  cry 
arose,  "Fling  him  out!  Fling  him  out!" 
And  to  the  crashing  of  thunder  and  the  glare 
of  lightning  those  nearest  the  pulpit,  with  a 
shout,  made  a  rush  for  the  magician.  But 
Simon  Jambers  did  not  wait.  His  nerve 
had  already  given  way,  and,  as  the  wild 
rush  was  made  for  him,  with  a  sudden  leap 
of  terror,  he  dashed  for  the  low  window  at 
the  side  of  the  platform,  sprang  through  it, 
and  disappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the 
storm. 

A  moment  later  the  storm  appeared  to 
have  passed,  rolling  on  in  the  direction  the 
sorcerer  had  taken.  Moses,  who  had  risen 
as  the  rush  was  made,  held  up  his  arm,  and 
the  tumult  hushed  down. 

"De  gates  of  hell  was  opened  wide  jes' 
now.  Let  us  pray." 

233 


THE  OUTCAST 

WE  had  fallen  to  talking,  in  the  lawyers' 
room,  of  the  effect  of  names  on  character, 
and  my  friend,  an  old  counsellor  of  great 
distinction,  advanced  the  singular  theory 
that  the  assassination  of  Lincoln  was  di 
rectly  traceable  to  the  fact  that  the  names 
of  the  Booths,  father  and  son,  were  Junius 
Brutus  and  John  Wilkes. 

"I  had  a  college  mate  named  Brutus,"  he 
said  after  a  moment  of  reflection,  "and  by  a 
strange  fate  his  life  also  appeared  to  have 
followed  the  line  of  historical  parallels.'* 

On  being  pressed  for  further  explanation 
he  told  the  following  story. 

"He  was  a  marked  man  at  college,  with 
a  force,  both  of  body  and  mind,  which  had 
something  of  the  sheer  brute  in  it,"  said  my 
friend,  with  a  pull  at  his  pipe, "  and  with 
an  independence  of  intellect  rather  unusual 
among  such  gregarious  animals  as  youth. 
234 


THE  OUTCAST 

He  was  so  independent  and  judicial  in  his 
views  that  we  used  to  call  him  'the  judge' 
even  then. 

"His  countenance  indicated  his  character 
— resolution  and  strength — capable  of  an 
extreme  in  both  virtue  and  vice — a  broad 
brow,  a  powerful  jaw,  a  large,  mobile,  rather 
sensual  mouth,  a  strong  nose,  and  piercing, 
dark,  searching  eyes.  His  hobby  was  phi 
losophy,  and  he  was  the  only  man  of  our  set 
that  knew  it  even  by  its  name.  He  read 
for  pleasure  Greek  and  German  philosophy. 
He  was  fond  of  discussing  ethics  and  he 
pronounced  himself  a  man  of  high  moral 
ity,  though  he  certainly  was  not  one  accord 
ing  to  ordinary  standards.  He  declared  the 
Mosaic  code  an  elaborate  and  even  a  com 
plicated  one,  and  used  to  say  that  Christ  had 
substituted  for  it  a  code  at  once  simple  and 
complete.  He  had  reduced  ten  command 
ments  to  two — love  of  God  and  love  of  your 
neighbor  as  yourself;  all  the  rest  he  declared 
an  elaboration,  and  human. 

"I  recall  even  now  his  discussion  on  one 
occasion  of  the  relative  importance  of  vari- 
235 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

ous  forms  of  utility  to  the  human  race. 
Riches,  he  declared  to  be  the  most  sordid 
conception  of  the  human  intelligence;  while 
law  was  the  loftiest.  But  of  all  forms,  he 
maintained  that  the  essential  one  was  the 
propagation  of  species — that  it  was  the  true 
motive  of  all  the  ceremonial  of  civilization 
— that  the  maternal  instinct  was  the  chief 
force  which  had  led  to  civilization,  and 
would  continue  to  advance  it,  and  that  the 
paternal  instinct,  which  was  largely  de 
veloped  only  in  man,  was  the  next  driving 
force.  He  further  held  that  the  obligation 
on  the  man  was  morally  as  strong  in  the 
case  of  illegitimacy  as  in  the  case  of  legiti 
mate  children.  It  was  sheer  cowardice,  he 
declared,  which  prompted  a  man  to  disown 
one.  I  remember  the  heat — I  might  almost 
say  'passion' — with  which  he  maintained 
this  view — due,  possibly,  to  the  fact,  which 
he  mentioned,  that  he  was  the  last  of  his 
family,  and,  so  far  as  he  knew,  had  not  a 
relative  in  the  world.  He  often  declared 
he  was  'as  lonely  as  Adam.' 

"When  we  started  at  the  bar,  his  powers 
236 


THE  OUTCAST 

soon  enabled  him  to  outstrip  the  rest  of  us. 
He  went  to  the  capital  and  after  a  few  years 
he  was  spoken  of  as  the  coming  man  of  the 
State,  unless  his  dissipation,  which  was  be 
ginning  to  be  a  good  deal  talked  of,  should 
bar  his  advance.  Finally,  his  life  became 
such  that  most  of  his  friends,  while  they 
deplored  his  abandonment,  were  obliged  to 
withdraw  their  intimacy. 

"He  formed  a  connection,  which  was  ex 
ceedingly  disturbing  to  those  who  had  en 
joyed  his  society,  and  had  looked  to  him  to 
become  the  ornament  of  the  bar.  He  be 
came  infatuated  with  the  woman  in  ques 
tion,  a  courtesan,  by  name,  Antoinette 
Lapine,  a  woman  of  French  extraction,  as 
her  name  might  imply,  with  marks  of  not 
able  beauty  still  left — in  her  trim  figure,  and 
her  delicate  features — the  nose  rather  long, 
lips  full,  the  hair  unusually  abundant  and 
glossy,  and  a  sort  of  feline,  almost  serpen 
tine,  suppleness  in  her  movements.  Where 
she  came  from  none  of  his  friends  ever  knew, 
but  from  the  first  time  he  met  her  he  ap 
peared  to  have  fallen  completely  under  her 
237 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

sway,  and  the  connection  between  them 
soon  became  so  notorious  that  he  was  not 
only  excluded  from  all  decent  society,  but 
was  dropped  by  all  of  those  who  had  claimed 
his  friendship. 

"He  set  up  an  establishment  for  her,  hav 
ing  taken  her  out  of  the — eh — establishment 
where  he  first  discovered  her,  and  devoted 
himself  to  her  so  completely  that  he  became 
the  talk  of  the  town,  and  was  finally  ostra 
cised,  as  I  say,  by  all  except  those  who  had 
known  him  in  his  youth,  and  even  we  held 
merely  a  nominal  association  with  him. 

"It  was  even  said  that  he  had  married 
her.  I  think  this  debasement  was  the  coup- 
de-grace  which  finally  sent  him  down.  So 
ciety  will  tolerate  much;  but  not  this.  I 
did  not  know  at  the  time  whether  this  report 
were  true  or  not.  (It  turned  out  not  to  be 
true.)  About  that  time  I  moved  West,  and 
our  association  ceased.  It  was  years  after 
ward  that  I  first  heard,  from  a  younger  man, 
of  his  later  career — his  recovery  and  subse 
quent  rehabilitation  and  success.  He  had 
broken  off  his  illicit  connection ;  had  married 
238 


THE  OUTCAST 

soon  afterward,  and  his  wife  had  died.  He 
had  been  promoted  to  the  bench,  where  he 
had  promptly  made  a  name. 

"  'There  was  some  sort  of  scandal  con 
nected  with  him,'  said  my  young  friend. 
'A  woman  had  been  infatuated  with  him — 
killed  herself  for  him.  I  think  he  had 
broken  off  with  her  some  months  before. 
But  that  was  twenty  years  ago — before  my 
time.  They  say  he  never—  However,  I 
know  nothing  of  the  truth  of  that.  He  had 
an  unhappy  marriage  I  believe,  and,  after 
his  wife's  death,  never  married  again.  He 
is  now  the  sternest  of  moralists,  a  terror  to 
evil-doers,  and  the  proudest  man  on  earth/ 

"'What  sort  of  judge  has  he  proved?'  I 
asked. 

"'They  call  him  a  just  judge;  but  very 
stern/ 

'"His  name  is  Brutus,'  I  observed. 
"I  never  thought  of  that,'  said  he. 

"A  year  or  two  afterward  I  happened  to 

go  back  East,  and  visited  my  old  home,  only 

to  find  the  sad  disappointment  which  one 

is  sure  to  find  if  one  stays  away  too  long. 

239 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

Everything  was  altered.  The  houses  where 
I  had  once  been  intimate  had  mostly 
changed  hands.  The  men  I  had  once  known 
well  had  died  or  become  absorbed  in  matters 
to  which  I  was  indifferent.  The  women  I 
had  admired  had  grown  old  and  fat — or  lean. 
It  was  altogether  a  sad  visit  for  me,  and  the 
saddest  part  of  it  all  was  to  feel  that  I,  my 
self,  had  changed.  I  determined,  therefore, 
to  cut  the  visit  short,  but,  having  learned 
that  my  old  friend's  court  was  in  session, 
and  that  an  interesting  case — the  trial  of  a 
young  woman  for  murder — was  before  him, 
which  appeared  to  cause  considerable  ex 
citement  in  the  town,  I  sauntered  up  to  the 
court-house  and  entered  the  room  soon  after 
the  case  was  called. 

"The  room  was  filled  with  the  usual  non 
descript — mainly  morbid  crowd  that  packs 
a  court-room  on  such  occasions  with  the 
bodies  and  stench  of  humanity.  A  little 
extra  civility,  however,  coupled  with  the 
statement  that  I  was  a  friend  of  the  judge's 
who  had  called  to  see  him,  and  proposed  to 
send  him  my  card  at  the  first  recess,  secured 
240 


THE  OUTCAST 

me  a  seat  well  in  front  to  one  side,  where  I 
could  see  and  hear  everything. 

"I  was  soon  informed  as  to  the  facts  of 
the  case  by  my  next  neighbor,  an  alert 
young  attorney  who  had  been  drawn  thither 
partly  by  interest  in  the  case,  but  mainly  by 
curiosity  to  witness  a  duel  which  he  said  was 
sure  to  take  place  between  the  opposing 
counsel,  who,  he  informed  me,  were  about 
the  two  cleverest  young  lawyers  at  the  bar. 

"From  his  account  it  appeared  that  the 
girl,  who  had  some  marks  of  beauty,  was  a 
young  woman  of  the  town,  by  name,  Netta 
Thorne,  who  had  become  attached  to  a 
young  man  of  some  social  position,  who, 
after  having  been  infatuated  with  her  for  a 
time,  had  finally  thrown  her  over  to  marry. 
As  he  was  on  the  point  of  marrying  a  young 
lady  in  his  own  set,  the  girl,  after  vainly  en 
deavoring  to  win  him  back,  had  sought  him 
out  and  shot  him  dead.  Possibly  she  might 
have  escaped,  for  no  one  saw  the  deed  com 
mitted,  but,  instead,  she  had  sat  quietly  be 
side  the  body  till  the  police  came,  when  she 
had  given  herself  up,  openly  confessing  the 
241 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

deed  and  expressing  her  readiness  to  suffer 
the  penalty  of  the  law.  When  interrogated 
as  to  her  motive,  her  only  reply  was,  'I 
loved  him,  and  could  not  give  him  up/ 

"'She  wanted  to  plead  guilty,'  said  my 
young  informant,  'but  the  judge  would  not 
allow  it.  He  knows  his  business.  He 
ordered  her  plea  withdrawn  and  appointed 
that  young  man  there  beside  her  to  defend 
her.  He  isn't  afraid.  But  it  is  a  dead  open- 
and-shut  case;  he  hasn't  a  point.  You  see, 
she  confessed  everything,  and  she  murdered 
him  all  right,  too.  All  he  can  do  is  to  throw 
himself  on  the  mercy  of  the  court,  and  God 
have  mercy  on  her  soul!  The  old  judge 
there  is  of  cast-iron!  Besides,  society  must 
be  protected.  He  knows  it.' 

"I  took  a  good  look  at  the  judge,  and,  in 
truth,  he  appeared  so.  His  proud,  stern 
face  was  set  like  stone,  his  bulky  frame, 
crowned  by  his  massive  head  with  its  large 
features,  gave  an  impression  of  strength, 
which  might  have  been  one  of  mere  brute 
force  but  for  the  powerful  chin,  stern  mouth, 
clear,  bold,  calm  eyes,  and  commanding 
242 


THE  OUTCAST 

brow,  which  stamped  it  with  intellectual 
power.  There  was  not  a  line  of  weakness, 
and  hardly  one  from  which  might  be  argued 
the  possibility  of  pity.  The  passion  I  had 
known  in  his  youth  had  petrified  into  rock. 
He  was  simply  a  steel  machine. 

'Not  cast-iron,  but  steel/  I  said  to  my 
young  neighbor. 

'He  is  a  just  judge/  said  he.  'He  will 
maintain  the  law!  Society  must  be  pro 
tected/ 

"I  turned  at  this  moment  to  look  at  the 
prisoner.  She  was  a  sad  young  thing  (with 
marks  of  beauty  of  the  Gallic  type  still 
left).  She  was  sitting  listlessly,  sunk  in  an 
armchair  provided  for  her  to  support  her 
drooping  frame,  and  of  all  the  multitude 
she  appeared  to  be  the  one  least  interested 
in  what  was  taking  place  around  her — of  all, 
she  and  the  judge  appeared  the  most  de 
tached.  She  was  a  picture  of  mere  woe. 
Dressed  in  a  sort  of  dull  black,  which  added 
to  her  pallor,  her  slender  shoulders  drooped 
as  though  under  a  weight;  the  white,  thin, 
delicate  and  rather  shapely  hands  lay  list- 
243 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

lessly  in  her  lap.  Her  dark,  weary  eyes 
were  downcast,  and  her  long  dark  lashes 
rested  on  her  wan  cheeks,  giving  an  air  of 
abject  wretchedness  and  indescribable  lone 
liness.  She  had  the  look  of  one  who  had  wept 
the  fountain  of  tears  dry.  Even  when  her 
counsel,  from  time  to  time  during  the  secur 
ing  of  the  jury,  leant  over  and  spoke  to  her, 
her  countenance  expressed  no  change;  she 
simply  shook  her  head  slowly — a  barely  per 
ceptible  recognition  of  his  presence. 

"He  was  a  striking-looking,  slim  youth, 
with  a  fine  brow,  deep  eyes,  and  a  mobile, 
sensitive  mouth,  set  somewhat  firmly,  and 
his  pallor  under  the  excitement  of  the  case 
so  weighty  added  to  his  interesting  appear 
ance. 

"The  jury  secured,  the  indictment  was 
read,  and  the  girl  was  asked  to  plead.  She 
said  nothing.  On  being  ordered  to  stand, 
she  merely  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet  and 
stood  drooping.  She  did  not  even  raise  her 
eyes.  She  had  the  helpless  quietude  of  a 
bound  animal.  Her  counsel  leant  over  to 
ward  her  and  said  something.  Then  she 
244 


THE  OUTCAST 

lifted  her  eyes  for  a  moment  and  looked  at 
the  judge  above  her,  his  stern  eyes  fastened 
on  her  calmly,  and  her  lips  moved.  '  Guilty/ 
she  said,  in  what  was  rather  like  the  shadow 
of  speech  than  speech  itself.  The  judge 
leant  forward,  his  hand  behind  his  ear. 

"'What?' 

"'She  pleads  "Not  guilty/"  said  the 
young  lawyer  at  her  side.  The  judge  sat 
back  and  the  jury  shifted  in  their  seats. 

"  'Enter  a  plea  of  "Not  guilty/' '  said  the 
judge  sternly,  and  the  trial  proceeded. 

"The  attorney  for  the  commonwealth 
presented  his  case  clearly  and  forcibly.  He 
was  a  man  of  ability  and  he  knew  the  power 
of  the  enginery  of  the  law  that  he  com 
manded.  '  It  was  a  clear  case/  he  said, '  and, 
unhappily,  not  an  unprecedented  one.  The 
prisoner  was  a  woman  of  evil  life,  a  law 
breaker  by  profession,  a  courtesan  who  had 
drawn  a  young  man  of  good  standing  into 
her  net,  and,  when,  awaking  to  his  folly,  he 
strove  to  escape  from  her  toils  and  lead  a 
reputable  life,  she  had  boldly  followed  him 
up  and  maliciously  shot  him  down,  almost, 
as  it  were,  on  the  very  steps  of  the  altan 
245 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  facts,  any 
more  than  there  was  as  to  the  law.  Society 
must  be  protected — he  should  ask  the  high 
est  penalty  of  the  law.' 

"As  he  sat  down,  the  throng  in  the  court 
room  rustled  approval. 

"The  witnesses  were  examined — enough 
and  to  spare,  for  the  deed  had  been  done 
openly.  The  prisoner's  former  life  was 
shown,  from  her  earliest  girlhood — the  life 
of  a  common  creature  of  the  pavement. 
Then  came  the  connection  with  the  young 
man  she  had  subsequently  killed,  his  aban 
donment  of  her  on  the  eve  of  his  marriage, 
and  then  the  'tragedy,'  as  it  was  usually 
spoken  of.  She  had  left  her  place  and  had 
sought  out  her  former  lover,  and,  after  a 
stormy  scene,  had  killed  him,  and  then  had 
calmly  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  police  and 
had — according  to  the  officer  put  on  the 
stand  to  prove  her  confession — '  Boasted  of 
her  crime.' 

"The  young  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  who 
up  to  this  time  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word, 
was  on  his  feet  in  a  second. 

"  'Boasted  of  what  crime?' 
246 


THE  OUTCAST 

"  'The  murder/ 

"'What  murder?'  His  voice  was  very 
quiet,  but  very  clear. 

"  'The  murder  of— 

"'Stop,  sir!'  and  from  his  deep  eyes 
leaped  a  flame  like  a  sudden  drawn  sword. 
'  She  never  boasted  of  murder.  If  you  let 
that  word  pass  your  lips  I,  myself,  will 
swear  out  a  warrant  against  you  for  perjury, 
and  prove  it  on  you  by  every  officer  that 
was  present  that  night.  She  never  used  that 
word.  Whether  there  shall  have  been  a 
murder  committed  is  a  secret  locked  in  the 
bosoms  of  those  twelve  men.  This  young 
thing  here,  is  at  this  moment,  as  free  from 
the  crime  of  murder  as  you  are,  and  I  am  an 
officer  of  the  law  appointed  by  the  court  to 
see  that  she  has  the  protection  of  the  law. 
She  shall  have  it  this  day  by  the  help  of 
God.'  He  leant  over  and  instinctively  put 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  drew  her 
toward  him,  and  she  instinctively  or  from 
sheer  weakness  leant  against  him.  Every 
one  sat  up  to  peer  at  them.  The  trial  sud 
denly  entered  on  a  new  phase.  I  became 
247 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

aware  of  a  peculiar  vibrant  quality  in  his 
voice,  that  began  to  thrill  the  crowd,  and 
stir  the  nerves.  He  soon  had  the  officer  ex 
plaining  that  he  meant  that  she  confessed  to 
the  shooting  of  her  lover. 

"Only  one  witness  appeared  at  all  friendly 
to  the  prisoner;  that  is,  not  utterly  hostile 
to  her — an  old  woman  with  an  inaudible 
voice — connected  with  a  house  of  refuge, 
who  on  cross-examination  testified  that  she 
had  seen  her  feeding  the  squirrels  in  a  public 
square,  and  that  she  had  told  her  of  her 
childhood  and  her  first  acquaintance  with, 
and  subsequent  love  for,  the  man  she  had 
afterward  killed.  She  had  come  once  to  the 
house  of  refuge,  but  her  infatuation  for  the 
young  man,  who  had  written  to  her,  had 
drawn  her  away  again.  There  was  put  in 
evidence,  a  letter  which  the  girl  had  written 
speaking  of  her  madness  for  her  lover  and 
declaring  that  she  could  not  live  without 
him.  The  witness  had  known  her  mother 
before  her — a  poor  creature,  who,  like  this 
girl,  had  gone  wrong,  and  had  come  to  an 
untimely  end.  'What  was  her  mother's 
248 


THE  OUTCAST 

name?'  asked  the  prisoner's  counsel.  'She 

was  known  as .'  She  spoke  so  low  that 

no  one  could  catch  the  name  except  the 
prisoner's  counsel,  who  leant  forward  with 
his  hand  behind  his  ear. 

"  'The  name  makes  no  difference.  She 
was  a  harlot,  like  her  daughter?'  demanded 
the  prosecuting  attorney  sharply. 

"'Yes,  sir.' 

The  prisoner's  counsel  started  to  rise; 
but  the  judge,  whose  attention  had  been 
distracted  for  a  moment,  said  firmly:  'The 
name  is  immaterial,'  and  he  kept  his  seat, 
but  a  second  later  said:  'It  may  or  it  may 
not  be.'  'I  rule  that  it  is/  said  the  judge 
sternly. 

'"I  will  reserve  the  point/  nodded  the 
young  counsellor,  looking  him  in  the  eye. 

"This  was  the  last  witness,  as  the  young 
counsel  said  simply  that  he  had  no  other 
witnesses  to  examine. 

"It  seemed  a  clear  case  of  murder,  and  the 
crowd  evidently  felt  it  to  be  so.  There 
could  be  but  one  verdict;  and  so  they  mani 
festly  declared  in  a  murmur  which  spread 
249 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

all  over  the  court-room,  until  the  judge 
sternly  demanded  silence.  The  instructions 
asked  were  elaborate  and  strong  on  the  side 
of  the  people;  on  the  other  side,  only  one 
instruction  was  asked  and  even  this  was  not 
argued.  It  was  on  the  point  of  reasonable 
cause.  The  counsel  for  the  State  rose  and 
spoke  briefly  but  strongly,  going  over  the 
ground  that  he  had  laid  out  in  his  opening 
statement,  and  calling  the  jury's  attention 
to  the  evidence  adduced  and  the  testimony 
of  witnesses  who  were  on  the  side  of  the 
State.  He  closed  by  saying:  'Society  must 
be  protected/ 

"Then,  as  he  took  his  seat,  the  young 
counsel  for  the  prisoner  rose. 

"  'He  will  throw  his  client  on  the  mercy 
of  the  court,'  muttered  the  young  man  at 
my  side.  But  not  so.  He  began  to  speak. 
'He  had  no  other  witnesses  for  the  defence,' 
he  said,  'than  those  already  examined.  His 
client  was  quite  alone  in  the  world — the  only 
friends  she  had  were  the  squirrels  she  had 
fed,  who  could  not  testify  on  her  behalf  to 
her  tender  heart — even  the  poor  harlots  in 

250 


THE  OUTCAST 

the  kennel  that  was  the  only  home  she  had 
ever  known,  were  afraid  to  testify  for  her/ 

"Then  he  went  on  elementally:  the 
counsel  for  the  State  had  said  that  she  was 
a  harlot  and  could  not  claim  the  defence  of 
outraged  womanhood ;  she  was  a  harlot  and 
had  no  womanliness  to  protect;  she  was  a 
harlot  and  had  no  outraged  virtue  to  avenge, 
no  pride  to  inspire  her  to  the  deed.  It  was 
simply  murder — cold-blooded  murder.  She 
had  followed  up  and  killed  a  man  who  had 
been  kind  to  her — wilfully,  deliberately,  and 
maliciously.  He  discussed  Malice  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then,  with  a  gesture,  threw  it 
aside,  and  came  to  the  facts. 

"It  was  quite  true  that  she  was  a  denizen 
of  a  brothel — an  outcast — more,  she  was  the 
child  of  a  brothel.  Her  mother  was  an  out 
cast  before  her.  But  there  was  something 
in  woman — stronger  than  pride,  stronger 
than  virtue,  stronger  than  life — the  one 
thing  that  had  advanced  the  world.  This 
was  Love,  and  it  had  come  to  this  poor  creat 
ure — how,  he  did  not  know,  but  it  had  come 
even  in  the  kennel  in  which  she  had  lived. 
251 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

It  had  lifted  her  out  of  the  reek  in  which  she 
had  been  born,  and  had  placed  her  in  a  new 
world  that  was  a  new  Heaven  to  her.  A 
young  man — not  a  very  strong  one,  nor  a 
good  one,  had  come  into  her  life  and  had 
opened  a  new  world  to  her,  a  Heaven  un 
dreamed  of  before — the  Heaven  of  Love. 
Weak  as  he  was,  he  had  created  in  her  a 
heart.  He  was  her  God.  She  would  have 
washed  his  feet  in  her  heart's  blood  and  have 
dried  them  with  the  tendrils  of  her  soul. 
She  withdrew  herself  from  other  men  for  his 
sake — from  her  companion  outcasts.  She 
struggled  to  hold  onto  her  heaven,  to  be 
worthy  of  it,  to  be  chaste  in  spirit,  to  be 
true  to  him,  and,  as  she  struggled  and  held 
on  with  all  her  new-born  soul,  he,  the  God 
of  her  idolatry,  had  taken  her  and  dropped 
her  back  bodily  into  hell.  As  she  clung  to 
his  feet  he  had  torn  loose  her  hands  and 
kicked  her  back  into  perdition,  and  she  in 
her  frenzy  had  slain  him.  And  now  she 
was  being  tried  for  this  act — how  and  by 
whom?  By  the  law — not  the  law  of  God, 
which  had  been  quoted — Christ  forgave  the 
252 


THE  OUTCAST 

Magdalene  and  she  wept  with  His  mother  at 
His  cross.  No,  she  is  tried  by  the  law  of 
society,  by  the  tribunal  established  by  soci 
ety,  by  society  itself,  which,  in  its  hypoc 
risy,  cast  her  out. 

"It  is  a  poor  summary  of  what  he  said 
that  I  give.  It  was  the  man,  not  the  words. 

"  'What  chance/  he  demanded,  'did  she 
have ;  what  chance  had  she  ever  had  ?  She 
had  been  foredoomed  from  her  birth;  pre 
ordained  to  the  life  that  she  had  led.  What 
had  society  or  law  ever  done  for  her  ?  They 
had  banished  her  to  her  foul  den  while  they 
prayed  and  sang,  and  locked  her  in  it  as  in 
a  ghetto  of  perdition. 

"  'Her  story  was  a  simple  one.  She  was 
conceived  in  sin;  she  was  the  child  of  a  har 
lot,  and  of  whom  ?  He  did  not  know.  Of 
some  man  like  this  one,  who  had  taken  her 
up  for  his  pleasure,  and  for  his  pleasure  had 
cast  her  off.  The  tragedy  of  life  had  but 
repeated  itself  in  this  case.  Her  mother, 
like  her,  had  been  an  outcast  and,  like  her, 
had  been  given  a  glimpse  of  heaven  through 
a  man's  love,  and  had  seized  upon  it  with 
253 


THE  LAND   OF  THE  SPIRIT 

her  famished  soul.  Like  her,  she  had  been 
betrayed,  and,  like  her,  at  the  instance  of 
society  had  been  dropped  back  into  per 
dition  with  her  child  by  that  child's  father, 
whoever  he  might  be.  In  her  despair  she 
had  destroyed  herself.  This  child  is  the 
daughter  of  despair/ 

"He  stood  away  from  her  and  left  her 
in  a  space  all  by  herself — a  pitiful,  little, 
shrunken  wisp  of  a  girl.  'There  she  sits/  he 
said,  with  his  eyes  on  her, ( the  embodiment, 
the  incarnation  of  all  the  wrongs  of  woman 
hood  throughout  the  ages — image  of  the 
holiest  creation  of  God;  born  with  the  in 
nocence  of  the  babe,  stamped  with  beauty, 
formed  for  motherhood.  Abandoned  by 
her  father.  Soiled,  defiled  by  man  for  his 
mere  pleasure;  victim  of  his  brutality; 
ruined  for  his  lust;  cast  out  for  his  selfish 
ness,  trampled  on  for  his  hypocrisy,  and  at 
last  slain  for  his  revenge.  You  may  take 
her;  she  is  wholly  in  your  power.  You  may 
bind  her  little  feet  with  irons,  and  strangle 
her  poor  voice  with  your  instruments  of 
vengeance,  but  by  the  justice  of  God,  which 
254 


THE  OUTCAST 

has  been  invoked  here  to-day,  I  forbid  you 
to  do  it  in  the  name  of  Him  who  knew  the 
lives  of  those  men  who  dragged  before  Him 
the  sinning  women  taken  for  a  death  crime, 
and  spared  the  Magdalene,  and  vouchsafed 
to  her  the  first  sight  of  His  resurrected  face. 
You  may  slay  her  and  think  to  divide  the 
responsibility  among  you;  but  each  man  of 
you  must  bear  this  alone,  for  one  voice  will 
save  her,  and  when  each  of  you  has  sent 
her  to  death,  each  of  you  shall  one  day  meet 
her  again  when  you  shall  stand  yourself  at 
that  Bar  to  answer  alone  to  that  Judge  to 
whom  you  shall  have  sent  her  to  witness 
against  you.  He  knows  your  lives,  your 
hearts,  and  He  will  judge  you.  He  knows 
who  is  this  poor  outcast's  father.  He  may 
be  living,  or  he  may  be  dead,  but  he  cannot 
escape  Him!'  He  ceased  for  a  moment, 
then  recommenced: 

'I  know  not  who  that  father  is  or  was, 
but  if  he  be  alive  I  summon  him  in  the  name 
of  God  to  the  bar  of  this  court  to  defend  his 
daughter's  life.  Though  he  be  a  member  of 
this  jury  or  the  judge,  there,  on  this  bench' 
255 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

(he  turned  and  faced  the  judge)  'I  summon, 
in  the  name  not  of  mercy,  but  of  justice, 
the  lover  of  Antoinette  Lapine,  whose 
daughter's  life  stands  in  jeopardy  this  day, 
because  of  his  abandonment  of  her/ 

"Thrilled  by  his  passionate  appeal,  I  saw 
a  strange  look  come  suddenly  over  his  face 
and  fix  his  gaze  in  an  indescribable  realiza 
tion  of  a  sudden  revelation.  I  looked  at 
the  same  moment  at  the  judge,  and  I 
saw  the  whole  terrible  truth  suddenly  sweep 
over  him  like  a  flood.  His  head  stretched 
forward.  His  staring  eyes  were  fastened 
on  the  prisoner's  face.  His  bloodless  lips 
moved.  '  Antoinette  Lapine ! '  he  whispered. 
His  sins  had  risen  up  against  him.  His  face 
was  the  hue  of  death.  It  was  his  own 
daughter,  harlot  and  murderess,  who  stood 
at  his  bar." 

My  friend  ceased  speaking,  and,  before 
any  of  us  could  interrupt  him,  he  had  put 
his  pipe  in  his  pocket  and  turned  to  the  door, 
saying  quietly:  "Good-night,  gentlemen." 

"But,  Colonel,  what  did  the  judge  do?" 
256 


THE  OUTCAST 


we  asked.  But  all  he  said  was :  "  Good-night, 
young  gentlemen.  To  understand  human 
nature  you  must  read  the  annals  of  your 
profession." 


END. 


257 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

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9MAY  59VF 

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WAV  .it  mi 

atwftt1'* 

£3f 

r    .;    •. 

Q 

MAY  31  iy 

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APR  2  7 

1975  3  9 

**37>  a***  ..... 

.         .... 

*     '  '  -  • 

LD  21A-50m-9,'58 
(6889slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  Californi* 

Berkeley 


